CHAPTER 3
Deanna~
Heart pounding, flanks heaving, Deanna sought to calm her panting lungs and make herself smaller, quieter. Deer were built for sprinting, not cross-country running. But her lungs ought to recover faster than this from a run. She was woefully out of shape if such a short dash was making her hyperventilate.
In her panic she had nearly trampled the man stretched full length on his belly. He had been almost under-hoof. It was true that he had lain admirably immobile, but it wasn’t as if he was exactly camouflaged. His tan chinos and black jacket should have stuck out in a world of greenery, except that terror had blinded her.
This stand of young birches wasn’t really thick enough to fully conceal her. But she hoped that the dozens of skinny, swaying white and gray trunks would break up her own white body, while allowing her to see Ransom’s thugs approaching. The important thing was to keep as motionless as that guy back there.
Somehow she didn’t think that those punks were experienced woodsmen. Norman Ransom might be Supreme Ruler of the Portland Parcel, and as rich as Bill Gates, but however loyal his deer were, they were amateur hitmen as well as city boys. If she just remained quite still, she could elude them. Probably.
The wind-borne scents thickened. The guy she had nearly mashed flat was with the bucks. Her luck had taken a final turn for the worse. The dude was a shifter. Not just any shifter. A fricking predator. A deer stalker. Now she had no choice. Her brain instructed her frozen body to flee. Her limbs refused. Her breath grew shallower. Her eyes narrowed to slits. She was going to die.
The stags came into view. For all their speed, they moved clumsily, as if this was their first time in the woods. Every tree was an unexpected barrier. The roots were trip lines. The branches snares.
Behind them padded an enormous spirit bear, as creamy white as she was. They should have smelled him back there, even if he drifted as silently as the ghost he appeared to be. But they crashed on oblivious, eyes on the crushed foliage she had left in her wake.
Had the bear spotted her? He seemed to be concentrating on the stags. Almost she felt sorry for them. Almost. The bear’s ivory bulk glided around a massive redwood and vanished. She blinked. Quivered. How could he just disappear? Was he indeed a specter? And then he vocalized to their right. A deep threatening moan that made the air rumble. Her heart thudded. The stags bolted — away from her.
The bear stretched his legs and strolled after them. He moved with effortless grace, easily keeping pace with their ungainly flight. They should have been pulling away from him, by leaps and bounds, but they were too spooked to maneuver nimbly amongst the thick trees. The bear moaned again. The stags split up. Ghost Bear charged.
Deanna’s legs unfroze. She picked her way down the hill, moving slowly, carefully, choosing unbroken ground, leaving no trace of her passing. The sound of the stags’ hooves faded and then grew louder. Trembling, she froze again. Only one stag was coming, but he was galloping.
It was the larger of the two bucks. Blood dripped from deep wounds on his haunch. He wasn’t looking for her. He wasn’t waiting for his buddy. He was hellbent on escaping death. He blundered through the trees apparently at random and disappeared over a rise, a stampede of one.
No sign or sound of the bear. Neither stag was seeking her. Her heart settled. She headed for her clothes. The parking lot presented the most danger. Hopefully Ransom’s bucks were nursing wounds, or being digested. When she got to the edge, she paused between two big pickup trucks and scanned the lot for trouble.
And found it straight away. A large broad-shouldered man carrying a lockbox in one big hand strode across the blacktop. The bear shifter. He was still wearing tan pants and a black windbreaker. She told her pulse to calm down.
As soon as he saw her, the bear pivoted on one huge boot and glided directly into her path. She was trapped between a panel van and a sedan. He stayed out of range of her backpack as if he knew it was freighted with laptop and stones.
Heavy dark brows dominated a face carved out of one of the harder rocks. His square jaw looked as if it had missed its last couple of appointments with his razor. But his brown eyes crinkled at the corners. Exactly what about this situation was funny?
“You okay?” he asked in a deep voice that sent more shivers through her.
Her throat seized. Her mouth dried. Somehow she managed to nod and croak. “Yeah. Thanks to you.”
He waved his empty hand. “You’re welcome.” Deep grooves on either side of his mouth lengthened and a generous mouth twitched.
She had nearly died, he had killed a couple of deer, and he was amused? Her feet moved backward of their own accord. But she was pretty sure she couldn’t escape if he reached for her. “The bodies?” she blurted.
“Bodies?” His eyes danced. “Sorry to disappoint you, ma’am, but those dudes will live to hunt again. Didn’t your mom tell you eating people is wrong?”
Unexpectedly, she found herself reassured by his solid presence, the aura of competence and decency that clung to him like perfume. Crap. It was perfume. Probably some hunter thing that lulled unwary deer so they could pounce. But that muscular frame was too relaxed to spring. Although if those long arms reached for her, she was venison.
Yet her lips curved without her intending such folly. “I was taught that eating meat is uncivilized,” she said primly. Good heavens. She was flirting with him. Terror had utterly vaporized her common sense. She. Was. Flirting. With. A. Bear. With death.
He ignored her foolishness. “What do you have that those deer want?”
She sighed. “Other than my life? Zip squat.”
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About the Author
Isadora writes feel-good PNR stories about heroic shifters and the sexy, sassy BBWs who are their fated mates. She is the author of over 40 books. Join her for some rousing adventures and some spicy loving.
Take a vacation from the humdrum. An Isadora Montrose Romance will instantly transport you to a thrilling world of sizzling passion and transcendent love. A guaranteed happy ending every time.
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Dragon Intrigues Page 22
