Bad, Very Bad Shifters- The Complete Mega Bundle

by Daniella Wright

  "Now," he said, and she was sure he'd reached his peak.

  "Now, Liz, come here," he directed her.

  She stood up to look at him and he pulled her down onto the bed. His movements were almost too quick for her eyes to follow. He loomed over her, a welcome scorching heat between her legs, and thrust. She arched against him, feeling him in every corner of her body. So good.

  "Now," he said again in a satisfyingly masculine growl, "I have to have you now."

  There was no slow in their first time, no slow drip of molten lava. Instead there were fireworks, fast and strong. She encouraged him, biting his ears and scratching nails along his back. She needed the heat and the ferocity as much as he did. He drove into her and she strained against him, taking everything he offered.

  She screamed her release, louder and longer than ever before. He buried his head in her shoulder, matching her.

  "Wife," he said the word possessively, snarling.

  "Husband," she said, "I'll be staying here, with you, when the year is up. I've already made up my mind."

  "Mine, always," he said, still wound tightly and gearing up for round two.

  "Yes," she agreed, liking the sound of it, "just as you belong to me."

  Sold To The Beasts

  ~ Bonus Story ~

  A Steamy Bear Shifter Menage

  Maude is an oddity in the kingdom she hails from. Born into a poor family, her only prospects were to be married up like her sister, though the idea of being traded for a few chickens has never been something that appealed to her. She's good with a sword, and one day chooses to leave her home and roam the landscape, in search of a better life than before.

  When she goes to mine for gold in a far away place, she's taken. Angry and annoyed, she plots to escape, even as she's sold to a group of people keen on never letting her out of their sight. The elusive bear shifters, the people of a distant kingdom – who didn't care if she was the ugliest person alive – as long as she was a woman. Maude's in for an interesting time...

  * * *

  Chapter One

  I knew it'd be a risky expedition. But I wanted a chance at glory, to be able to end out top of my life with riches beyond comprehension. Generally, in our world, if you're not rich, and you don't have any sort of magical power, then you're slung to the bottom of the dung pile. Our beloved king is content to take the bread out of our mouths and overtax the people who already can't afford to survive, whilst endorsing his rich friends. The king wasn't my problem, though. My family was.

  I grew up as a girl that made my mother and father ill with worry. They wanted me to be like my older sister, dainty and pretty and addicted to her dolls and feminine. They wanted me to be married off like her, since my sister's marriage to a wealthier family than ours gave us a decent dowry of ten dairy cows and twenty chickens, enough to generate a small local business that kept us afloat.

  Of course, I did the complete opposite of everything they wanted. I replaced my dolls with sticks and fake swords. I duelled with the boys in the streets, the yards and the local woodlands, where we would spend time hunting for our “weapons.” I made a pact with my friends that we'd become the strongest warriors, so we could be rich as bodyguards, or by entering tournament melees. The fact I was a girl, and wasn't supposed to do this, made me all the more determined to show these people what I could do.

  So I trained. I did everything I could think of to make myself stronger. It helped I had broad shoulders, so I never would have had that perfectly feminine figure, anyway. People telling me that I couldn't do something because I was a girl only served to infuriate me, and fight to prove them wrong.

  I even bullied local martial artists and sword instructors to let me train, though I had to pay them in secret, without my parent's knowledge or consent. Because they would have refused.

  Fast forward to when I hit sixteen years of age, and I'm still stuck on my mother's farm, and they discover about my extra activities. I'm banned from them, and have to face my mother's quivering jowls and my father's stern disapproval.

  “Why can't you be like Beatrice, Maude? Why do you insist on training and gaining these horrible muscles and looking like a man?”

  I don't look like a man. I have long, blonde hair, blue-gray eyes. But my natural body shape, even if I didn't train, would have forced me to be broad shouldered and stocky. All I'm doing is enhancing what's already there. I'd never be able to fit into the kinds of dresses Beatrice wears.

  “How are you going to find any young man who will want to marry you?”

  “You mean, how are you going to get more cows and chickens?” I huff, feeling rebellious and sulky. I hate that I had to be clandestine with everything in my life. Even my education, though I was never allowed anything advanced. No math, science or carpentry for me. Instead, it's embroidering, sewing, learning to cook. I know how to add up and subtract, but anything advanced, I never got the chance.

  “Don't be impertinent to your family, Maude,” my father says, with that glint in his eyes that suggests he wants to reach for his belt, which I've felt across my back a few times in my life. Always for the same reason. Be more like a woman.

  What does that even mean, anyway? Be submissive? Be quiet? Be dutiful? Never pursue my dreams and only exist to provide my family money?

  “I've already told you. I don't want to be like my sister. I want to be like me.”

  “We're arranging a marriage with someone who might be willing to have you,” My father says curtly, blue eyes flashing, strong jaw set. He might have been a handsome man once, but a lifetime of petty spite and bitterness had left him warped and mean in the eye. My mother in comparison is his personal sycophant, and he can do no wrong. I suppose it means they do love each other, but sky hell you if you're born into this.

  Needless to say, I had enough and packed my bags, deciding to travel the big wide world.

  After a few incidents on the roads where bandits tried to drag me off and rape me, which usually ended pretty badly for the bandits – I made some counter measures. First, not willing to cut my hair, I just tucked it under a hat, to make it look like I had short hair. Second, I bound my breasts. They're not huge as they are, but they still stuck out. Third, I practised adopting a lower grunt when talking to people, as I found as much as I want people to see me as a powerful woman, it was easier to pass myself off as a man. I had the strength for it. I had the fighting ability. Just not the correct gender.

  Although we have heroes in our history that depicts warrior princesses fighting dragons and bears and wolves, I'm neither a princess, nor rich. And the legends conveniently miss out the general population who are starving in many areas, and willing to rob anyone they can, to try and increase their incomes.

  A few years of travel prepared me well. I stayed in various villages and towns, renting out rooms and doing odd jobs. I got hired as protection, though one time, it was discovered I was a woman, and my client tried to send me off packing without pay. Despite the fact I'd killed two bandits who wanted to rob him.

  One well placed sword at his throat later, I got my pay. Some men found me exciting. Most found me a threat, but let's just say that the few who admired my strength, ended up in my bed one way or another. I always like to show my appreciation.

  It's just a shame that I can count the number of people who appreciate me for who I am on one hand.

  There's nothing else for it. It becomes easier to grow a heart of stone, to make sure that the hurtful comments I do hear don't get to me. It's far easier to not care.

  Now, after seven years of slow travel, I'm at the edge of the Moon Wastes. I'm dwelling in one of the border inns, sat next to a fire, drinking a mug of mead, idly listening to the other travelers who have made it this far, without bothering to dip myself into any conversations. The reason I'm here is for the same as anyone else. The Moon Wastes, buried under the ice and snow, has gold in the mountains. Miners have been accumulating to the Moon Wastes for years, but it's lonely, hard and life t
hreatening to obtain the gold, as the mountains are full of predators, and the cold is severely underestimated.

  There's also rumors of magical beings in the mountains, like dragons in their caves, monstrous animals that could snap you in half with a twitch of their jaws.

  Doesn't stop people from turning up and trying out their luck. I'm no exception.

  With the little bit of coin I have procured, I gave myself the best cold protection and equipment my money could buy. I wear thick wolfskins, and I'm particularly proud of my tunic, which has a hood with pointed wolf ears on it. I have a backpack with a cooking pot in it, matchsticks and bandages, along with dried beef jerky, and equipment to help me fish or hunt if needed. Last, I have an insulated sleeping bag, stuffed with wool and feathers. It's been coated over with resin to make it waterproof, and is possibly the most expensive thing I own, even more than the steel pickaxe.

  I'm kind of proud of it.

  When we trek through the Moon Wastes the next day, in our small group together, it takes a good few hours to reach the base of the mountains. Some people group up, others go alone, and I'm one of the loners, choosing to head my own way to where the best chances for gold are. I know it may take weeks and months, and there's even tiny little base camps along the mountains, where miners gather together for good mead, pitch up their shelters, or forge alliances.

  It takes me a good few days of mountain trekking to find my ideal spot, near a mountain stream at an obscure bend, with an overhang of rock to place my sleeping bag under. I know the risk of predators is around. I've seen a mountain lion, but I also trust in my senses to get me through. When I'm not hunting, eating, drinking, or sleeping, I'm hacking away at a promising wall face, intending to see if I can dig my way to gold. I'm prepared to spend several months on this.

  Two span later, with my muscles aching, as I rest through the huge hole I've created for myself in the mountain, I hear a growl. Instantly, my senses go on high alert. I don't have my sword, I left it with my sleeping bag, but I do have the pickaxe. The growling sound in question belongs to a huge brown grizzly, the biggest I've ever seen. I examine its build, fairly certain that if I clashed with such a monster one on one, I'd die in a second. The claws upon its feet are longer than my head.

  The only way to counter a grizzly I think is to not run away, but back off slowly, maintaining eye contact.

  I do this now, my cow leather boots pressing into the snow, holding my arms out to make myself bigger. My heart hammers in my chest slightly. I notice the bear has several wounds on it already. There's claw gashes upon its side, and what appears to be a chunk taken out of its back. The bear follows my movement, growling. I back off, slowly heading towards my camp, and the bear rushes.

  I curse inwardly, but hold my ground, not allowing the rush to scare me into running, and hold my pickaxe at the ready. Meters away from me, with no signs of slowing, I dive to the side as the bear gallops past, before skidding to a halt.

  I have no idea if this is normal bear behaviour, but it turns and lunges for me again. It shambles faster than a human can in a straight line, and I have just about enough time to jam my pickaxe into its neck, before a swipe of those massive claws sends me collapsing to the ground, unconscious.

  Chapter Two

  I wake up, and I'm surprised I haven't been eaten. I remember being clouted by the bear, just as I stabbed it with my mining tool. I knew I wouldn't be able to get out, not with that odd, reckless behaviour and speed.

  Animals tend to be far more cautious than that. Humans are the ones less likely to heed the signs, but they fear and dread like any other animal. But this – I don't get this.

  I notice that my hands and feet are tied together by strong rope, which is very unlikely something a bear would do. I blink rapidly, trying to gain a sense of my surroundings. There's nothing but blackness, and the constant rattle of wheels. So I'm trapped in some sort of crate, since there's only small pinpricks for me to breathe from. I also notice that my hat's been taken off, and my long hair is now flowing past my shoulders. My robes are ill fitting on me, suggesting someone took them off at a point, possibly to look at what lay underneath. As if they wanted to check if I was a woman.

  Did the bear leave me then, after it hit me? Did I kill it with my pickaxe? If so, then some bastard must have found me lying there and decided to take advantage of it. Boiling hate seethes through my veins, and I attempt to sit up on the straw mat I'm lying on, though that makes me bump my head against the top of the crate, before I sigh and slump down again, maintaining that uncomfortable position.

  All my nice equipment is gone, including the sleeping bag, the sword, the fish hooks and the cooking pot. Irritated, I work on trying to free myself from the bindings. Once I find out my captives, there'll be hell to pay. They have no idea what they're messing with.

  The anger helps dim the fear I'm feeling, of being helplessly trussed up and captured. Maybe even violated – though I don't feel any pain or stickiness between my thighs to suggest this. I suppose I should take that as a blessing, but I'm livid still at the fact I was taken. Greedy, exploitative bastards.

  I tremble when I hear bellowing roars in the distance, like the way the grizzly roared. There's a lot of growling and snarling, along with those guttural screams, and I have no idea what's happening, except it sounds like there's a lot of bears in the area. Immediately, I hold my breath, wanting to make as little sound as possible. What is going on out there?

  My arms and legs throb from the bindings, which are tight, restricting my movement, possibly my blood flow. There's a horrible numbness creeping up my arm, and I feel weak and tired. The pain still rings on the side of my head, along with something congealed, which may be dried blood. I lick my salty lips and focus on exhaling softly, controlling my breathing. The snarls continue to surround where I am, and I feel the platform of whatever my crate is on shift – and I crash into one side of the crate, now at a different angle. I hear someone say, “I bring a tribute for safe passage through your territory!”

  More snarls. My senses go on high alert. I'm a tribute?

  After a pause, a deep, booming voice says, “What is your tribute?”

  “A human female.”

  Another pause. “Go on.”

  “She is pretty, with long, flaxen hair, blue eyes. She's also highly unusual in that she has muscles, and is built like a fighter, rather than the dainty types we're used to seeing.”

  “These details do not matter. How did you find her?”

  “I took her by surprise when she was mining.”

  There's a laugh. “Surprise? Is that why you have the gaping wound in your neck? You got that from a woman? In your noble form?”

  “She was a tough woman,” the one who controls me whines.

  More laughter rends the atmosphere. “I'd like to see this woman for myself! Is she in good condition?”

  “Er...”

  Things aren't adding up here. I never hit a human in the neck. Just a bear.

  Unless...

  Oh, Heaven and Hell. Bear shifters?

  To answer my dread, the crate lid is pried off, and a huge man with a bandage covering a wound in his neck hauls me out. “Here,” he says. I have about time to register that my crate was attached to a two wheeled cart, and that nothing's attached to the wheels. So the man was moving me by himself. I also see a mix of bears surrounding the area, and a few men with glowing yellow eyes standing by those bears. I focus on those men, the ones my kidnapper appears to be ransoming me to. I catch glimpses of black hair, rugged features and burly forms, before I'm dumped on the ground.

  Another cacophony of snarls slices the air, and even more bears shamble into sight, with different colorings from the current ones. The newcomers are reddish brown, whilst the current ones are as black as the hair on their human forms.

  I glare balefully at the back of my kidnapper, who had rushed me in his bear form, but he pushes me to below the wheel, so I can't see the newcomers. He also pays me no fu
rther attention.

  “What is the meaning of this?” One of the dark haired humans shouts. “Why are the Fordrun bears here?”

  In answer, a low, gravelly voice says, “Because this is directly on our territory.”

  “You must be mistaken.”

  “We're not. You're well aware the border between our territories is here. It just so happens that the road your friend is travelling is on our side.”

  “Nonsense!” I hear desperation in his voice, and instantly become puzzled. “We were here first. We claim this traveller's tribute, and bid him safe passage.”

  “No. We claim the tribute. It's on our side. And there's more of us here than you.” The gravelly voice is relentless, unyielding. I'm now craning my neck to see the speakers, though from my vantage point, I can only see the man with the jet black hair, his yellow eyes wide in indignation. I see his other followers in their human forms equally incensed, and the six or seven bears bristling up, as if ready to fight.

  And the newcomers claim there's more of them. Great.

  Something odd is happening here, though. As I hear the bear shifters snarl and hurl threats at one another, I can't help but think they're going through an awful lot of trouble just to secure one tribute. Is this a territorial pride thing?

  I consider how the dark haired shifter reacted, when my kidnapper declared he had a woman. He sounded eager. Keen to see me.

  I have an odd feeling that women are valuable to these people, for whatever reason they seem to have. The more I listen to the verbal fighting, the more I hear both sides trying to exert their claim over the tribute.

  Eventually, my kidnapper says, tentatively, “Maybe I can just give them to the highest bidder?”

  The dark haired man roars his annoyance, even as the other side, which I've been unable to see in their negotiations the whole time, declares, “I'll do it. Better than to have us fighting. 100 gold pieces.”