Blackstone Ranger Guardian: Blackstone Rangers Book 5

by Alicia Montgomery

  He shook his head and took the shirt from her hands. “I can make it like this. I’ll lead.” It would be too dangerous to let his bear out, especially if it caught wind of what he was about to do. “Need to keep your shirt dry.”

  “Oh. Okay.” Turning toward the forest, she stretched her arms out and began her shift. Red and white fur appeared on her skin as she began to shrink. In seconds, a full-grown fox stood where she had been. The little creature did a few turns before settling on its hind legs, looking up at him with curious blue eyes. Dutchy’s eyes.

  “Pretty little thing.” To his surprise, the fox bounded over to him, circling his legs, its bushy red tail brushing his calves. It let out a high-pitched bark when he bent down to stroke its fur. “Hello.”

  The fox yipped and nuzzled his palm with its dainty snout as its black-tipped ears twitched.

  “We should go.” He stood up and grabbed the boots sitting by the door. “Follow me, little fox.”

  They trudged through the snow, with Krieger clearing the way down the rugged path until they reached the main road. The snow was still piled high, and his bear would have made quick work of the blockage, but he needed this. Needed to feel the sweat on his body, the ache in his limbs. The fox followed along, darting about once in a while to sniff at a plant or dig at the dirt, but mostly it stayed by his side, circling his legs or brushing its tail at him saucily.

  Finally, they reached Sector L, and the cabin was within his sight. The smoke from the chimney and the light on the porch told him someone was there.

  When he halted, the fox ran around his legs in circles before settling in front of him. Slowly, it began to grow, until Dutchy stood in full human form.

  “Thanks,” she said as he slipped the shirt over her head. When her face popped through the top, she sent him a dazzling smile. “My fox likes you. A lot.”

  “I like your fox too.” Dread filled his stomach. “Station’s right over there.”

  “All right.” She looped her arm through his. “Let’s go.” When he didn’t move, she tugged harder. “John?”

  He swallowed. “Won’t be going with you.”

  She frowned. “Don’t tell me your boss is sending you out to work. The storm’s passed. You’ve been stuck up there for days. I mean, you haven’t been strictly working.” She suppressed a smile. “But surely you deserve a couple hours off?”

  He didn’t know what to say to her. What was he supposed to say? His instincts—his bear—wanted to get down on his knees and beg her to stay. But he couldn’t do that to her. Sentence her to a life up here because he and his animal were just too damn broken to function in normal society. “I’m sorry, Dutchy.”

  “Sorry?”

  “I can’t. Go with you.” Gently, he pried her arm off him. “You should go … back.”

  “John?” Her voice shook. “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

  Bile rose in his throat, burning a path from his stomach to his mouth. “You don’t … you don’t know me.”

  “Don’t know you? John, what are you saying?” She attempted to reach for him, but he evaded her grasp. “John? Tell me what’s the matter.”

  He stared at her, memorizing the lines and shape of her face. “Nothing. We can’t … Dutchy, you need to go back. And I need to stay here. This is where I belong.”

  Panic laced her voice. “John, please, tell me what’s wrong. We can work it out. We’re mates. We need—”

  His bear reared up, and he couldn’t stop the savage growl from escaping his lips. “No!”

  Fear struck Dutchy’s face, and she stepped back. “J-John—”

  “I didn’t—I was—” Maybe this was what had to happen. “Go, Dutchy. I … I can’t have you here.”

  “No, John—”

  “I said, go!”

  Her face crumpled as she shrank back, and his chest ached so fiercely he couldn’t breathe. Control slipped, and he could feel his grizzly slamming its head into his rib cage. He let out a cry as he fought it, but it was too late. Can’t. Let. Her. See.

  With a deep roar, he turned and ran into the trees, as fast as his legs could carry him, fighting the beast inside him. He couldn’t let it hurt her. Or anyone. Not again.

  In those three days he lay under the rubble, his team slowly dying around him, he vowed to each of them that he would get them the justice they deserved. After they found him and he made a full recovery from his ordeal, he ran off.

  It took him the better part of the year to track everyone involved in the market building explosion. Taking down each and every man responsible for the death of five good men plus over a hundred innocent civilians should have satisfied him and his animal. With each kill, he relished in their death. Lived for the thrill of the hunt. But it had only unleashed a darkness in him. It was that wild force that he couldn’t control. Made him do something so terrible that it scarred his soul and stained his hands with innocent blood.

  And that was the reason he had to be up here, alone. Controlling his killer instinct. Can’t let it happen again. And certainly not to his mate.

  This was his punishment, his cross to bear. And he was never going to let it touch her.

  Chapter Four

  Present time …

  Heaviness pressed down on Dutchy as she slowly gained consciousness from her dreamless sleep. An invisible weight pushed down on top of her. All over her, plastering her to the bed, making it hard to even open her eyelids.

  She lay there, for how long she wasn’t sure. Not that it mattered. It was probably past noon. If her bladder hadn’t protested so strongly, she wouldn’t have moved at all.

  Hauling her body out of bed, she trudged to the bathroom, not bothering to flip on any switches in her bedroom darkened by the blackout curtains that remained drawn. The light from the window in the bathroom made her recoil for a second before her eyes adjusted.

  After finishing up in the bathroom, she grabbed the sweatpants hanging from the hook on the back of the door. A perfunctory sniff told her it was good enough and she put it on, as well as the matching sweatshirt.

  Dragging herself out of the bedroom, she headed to the kitchen. Water. There was a half-empty glass still sitting on the counter, so she filled it up from the tap, then downed it before adding it to the growing pile of dishes in the sink.

  She ran her fingers through her hair, trying to get the tangles out with not much luck. Shrugging, she padded out into the living room, then stopped. Her nose wrinkled in distaste. Something didn’t quite smell right.

  Her fox wrinkled its nose and scratched at her, pointing her to the piles of takeout boxes on the coffee table. Oh crap. That was from two—no three nights ago. With a sigh, she marched back to the kitchen and grabbed a garbage bag, then headed into the living room to toss the boxes of moldy Chinese food into the bag.

  And seeing as she was already on a cleaning kick, she tossed out the other junk on her coffee table, fluffed up the cushions, straightened out the pillows, and put some books back on the shelves.

  Hmmm. When was the last time she cleaned up? Too long, based on the layer of dust on the furniture surfaces. A plant in the corner had died a while ago, so she chucked that into the garbage bag too. Then she grabbed the vacuum cleaner from the closet.

  By the time she finished cleaning and drew back the curtains to let some sun in, the heaviness pressing on her had lightened.

  Huh.

  Maybe today was going to be different. Maybe today was the day she could pick herself up. Maybe today was the day she could feel normal again.

  She plunked down on the couch, but quickly got up when she felt something poke her butt. Whirling around, she reached in between the cushions and pulled out the offending item but quickly dropped it as if she had picked up a hot iron.

  The heaviness pressed down on her again, and her fox hung its head, giving out a pathetic moan.

  She didn’t even realize her lower lip began to tremble. Or that her hand was shaking.

  Stop it!<
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  It’s nothing.

  It can’t hurt you.

  It was only a sketchbook after all.

  Gingerly, she bent down to pick it up. The problem wasn’t the sketchbook itself. No, what made her recoil was what was inside.

  The heaviness pressed down on her, threatening to hold her down until she couldn’t move. Her lungs squeezed the air from her body, but she clung to the sketchbook tighter.

  You can do this. Fight it.

  Her body relaxed. Nothing happened. It was just a sketchbook. Hope flittered inside her. Her fox, on the other hand, remained silent.

  Look, she told herself. See what you’ve done. How far you’ve come. Her living room was far from perfect, but it was better. An improvement.

  Maybe today was the day.

  No, not maybe.

  It would be today.

  Before she lost all nerve, she tucked the sketchpad under her arm, as well as a box of colored pencils on the console table, and strode out of the living room, making a beeline for the front hall. She grabbed her keys and opened the front door.

  It was a beautiful, crisp autumn day. When was the last time she had been out? She took a deep breath. Too long. It was too painful to look outside, especially during this time of the year when she knew the leaves were turning. She kept her head down as she headed for her car. The park. Yes, she’d head there, to one of her favorite spots in all of Blackstone.

  Soon she was pulling into an empty parking spot in Lucas Lennox Park. She crossed the lawn, heading to the row of benches on the other side, which offered a breathtaking view of the mountains. Her fox bared its teeth and barked viciously.

  Ignoring her animal, she reached for the sketchpad and opened it to the front page. Her heart pounded, and her throat felt dry and panic rose in her. No, please. How long was this going to go on?

  Someone plopping down on the bench next to her made her startle. The young woman was staring up at the mountains, so mesmerized she didn’t realize Dutchy was there. “Are you all right?” she asked, putting the pad and pencils on her lap.

  The woman jerked, her head toward her. Pretty, Dutchy thought. A few years younger than her, maybe. Her pale hair flowed around her, but what caught Dutchy’s gaze were the tears pooling in her eyes.

  “Um, yeah, I guess.” She quickly wiped the tears away. “Sorry, was I disturbing you?”

  Dutchy sighed. “No, not at all.” How could she be disturbed when she wasn’t doing anything? “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  The woman mumbled something, but she didn’t hear it. The mountains seemed to call to her again, despite her fox’s aversion to them. “Beautiful, aren’t they?”

  “Yeah. They are.”

  They didn’t talk anymore as they both beheld the sight before them. Time passed. How long, she didn’t know. Shadows passed over the mountains, indicating that the sun was setting. As long as she kept her mind blank, her fox didn’t protest or make a sound. As long as she didn’t think of—

  “Are you an artist?”

  Dutchy hummed, not sure how to answer.

  “Do you come here often? To draw the mountains?”

  She shook her head. “No, I don’t draw landscapes.”

  “What are you doing, then?”

  What was she doing? That was a question she asked herself a lot. As her life crumbled around her, every day she wondered what she was doing.

  Turning to the mountains, the gaping hole in her heart grew even bigger. She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Trying to find color.”

  The truth rang in her head as she stared down at the pad in her hand. She didn’t fear what was inside the pages. No, she feared what wasn’t in there.

  Nothing.

  Pages and pages of nothing.

  “Miss? What’s wrong?”

  Her fox hissed with anger. “I have to go.” She bounced to her feet and dashed away as fast as her shifter abilities could take her. She didn’t even know where she was going, and she had dropped the pad and pencils somewhere along the way.

  A knife-like pain stabbed her in the chest. No, today wasn’t the day she was going to turn her life back around. It wasn’t the day she would pick up the pieces that had slowly been falling away.

  This was her life now. Colorless. Literally. Wherever she looked, she could only see shades of gray, black, and white. What a fucking joke. How could she design and find inspiration when she couldn’t see color?

  At some point she had shifted into her fox’s body, and she felt relief that it could just take over. The fox ran through the trees, jumping over roots, diving through piles of leaves. In animal form, she could forget herself. In the beginning, when she started losing the color, this had been her comfort. It was fading slower as a fox, but eventually its world turned black and white too. But in here, at least, she could still smell and taste and feel.

  Run. Run as fast as you can. Not that she could outrun the shadow that loomed over her. It was like a raincloud she couldn’t escape. Not since that day her soul tore in half. It sent her into a spiral, into a hole she’d been desperately trying to crawl out of for months.

  Maybe today was the day.

  The day she gave up.

  Chapter Five

  If someone told him months ago that he’d be out and about, getting a drink at a bar, Krieger would have laughed in their faces.

  But here he was, at the local watering hole, staring into a tall glass of frothy, ice-cold beer. Of course, he was in a private room in the back, far from the noise and din of the main bar, all by himself.

  Change didn’t happen overnight, after all.

  But he was working on it. Bit by bit.

  As he took a sip from his beer, the man who strode into the room caught his attention. His bright green gaze immediately landed on Krieger.

  “Chief,” he greeted as Damon Cooper walked over and sat on the chair across from him.

  “Krieg.”

  They said going through a traumatic event could bring people together. If that were true, then he and Cooper couldn’t possibly be closer than if they were actual blood brothers from the same womb. Both of them had gone through a lot—together and apart—and sitting here, in the outside world was a miracle for them both.

  There were very few people in the world Krieger would do anything—and he meant anything—for, and his former commander was one of them. Though the chief didn’t know it, he’d saved Krieger’s life more than once, and he continued to pull him from the darkness by simply being there.

  “What’s this about?” Krieger asked.

  Damon shrugged. “I only know what I told you.” He glanced around the empty room. When a particularly loud shout from the riotous group of girls from the outside pierced their little sanctuary, the chief winced. Krieger felt The Demon—Damon’s bear—complain furiously, but it didn’t explode in rage. It was from The Demon that Krieger’s own bear took its cue, remaining still inside him.

  Damon raised a dark brow but didn’t say anything. Krieger took another sip of his beer.

  Yes, change didn’t happen overnight, but by working hard, he had come far—much farther than he’d ever have gotten by himself or staying locked up all alone.

  Hopefully, he would be good enough. Soon. The change would be complete, and he could finally be whole again. Just like Damon. He looked forward to that day. Dreamed about it almost every night. Dreamed about her.

  Heavy footsteps approaching made them both go on alert, but when they saw who it was, they relaxed. Tim Grimes, owner of The Den and polar bear shifter, lumbered toward them, a mug of beer in one hand.

  “Can I top you off, Krieger?” Grimes asked, eyeing his half-empty mug.

  “Nah. I’m good.”

  The polar bear shifter placed the mug in front of Damon before settling himself on the empty chair on Krieger’s right. “All right then. Did you tell him why I called, Chief?”

  “Briefly,” Damon said. “But why don’t you start from the beginning?”

 
Grimes stroked his bushy white beard with his thumb and forefinger. “My friend Oscar’s been missing for three weeks now.”

  “Did you report it to the Blackstone Police Department?” Krieger asked.

  Grimes let out a loud huff. “His nephew did, but they got nothin’ so far. Besides, I don’t trust cops.”

  Krieger drummed his fingers on the table. “Then why come to Damon?”

  “Oscar’s a raccoon shifter,” Grimes replied. “Likes to spend time up in the mountains. Sometimes he goes there for days.”

  “A couple of the rangers have seen him in the past,” Damon said. “But nothing recently.”

  “The peak is his favorite place,” Grimes explained. “Says he likes the quiet up there.”

  Krieger could relate to that. “Hmmm. I do recall a raccoon scent that pops up every now and then. Could be your friend.”

  “Do you remember when you last scented him?”

  A couple of months ago, before he started venturing down the mountains, he probably could have. But now, his memory was filled with scents of the various shifters, hikers, and even his coworkers. “Can’t say I do.”

  “Are you sure he didn’t just pack up and leave?” Damon asked. “Or do you suspect something else?”

  Grimes’s nostrils flared. “Oscar’s not like that. Sure, he gets in his cups sometimes, but that’s because he lost his mate a couple years ago and hasn’t been the same since. Going up to the mountains helps calm him down.”

  Krieger’s hands curled into fists under the table, and it took all his control to pull his bear back from reacting. They knew what that was like, after all.

  Grimes continued. “Could he have decided to leave Blackstone on a whim? Possible, but unlikely. According to his nephew, his trailer’s untouched. Clothes and keepsakes are there, nothing missing.”

  Damon’s eyes sparked. “Accident then?” His brows furrowed. “I can ask my men to keep an eye out. Though if it’s been three weeks, we would have found a trace of him.”