So that left me with humans who, although they made for fine bedfellows, lacked the connection I needed, that something more. Yeah, I was picky—too picky according to my parents who were desperate to see me mated and bringing a guy home for the holidays. I’d kind of given up at this point, throwing myself into my careers—both in marketing and with the pack management. It’s not like it was that weird to be unmated. Our Alpha was and he was in his midforties. It shouldn’t be a big deal, but for me it was. But I’d never thought to try to date a bear. Shifters were shifters, but bear society was very different than ours.
Wait. What was I thinking? This wasn’t a date. It wasn’t anything long-term. This was a booty call, if it was even that. Afterward he’d go back to his den to prep for the winter, coming out in the spring to go hunt down and screw a sow in Fairbanks or Anchorage, and I’d work my butt off, spend Christmas with my folks, and hope he meant it about bringing smoked trout to the next year’s barbeque.
Yum. Smoked trout.
“Absolutely. I love fish. If it’s meat, then I’ll eat,” I joked. I took more than a sip this time. I’d been nursing my beers all night and this bourbon was really going to my head. I scooted closer, my thigh resting against Karl’s, my shoulder brushing his. It was a toasty August night and the booze was warming my blood, but nothing compared to the heat I felt coming off this bear shifter. His hand touched my leg and worked its way up to the hem of my shorts. My breath hitched and I mentally willed his hand to go higher. I was sure the scent of my arousal was filling the air.
Which was totally okay, because his was too.
Karl took the bottle from my hand, carefully setting it aside. I watched him, watched his muscles flex under the snug shirt, watched the swing of his shoulder-length wavy hair. My thoughts swirled in a bourbon haze, my inhibitions nowhere to be found. When he turned and slid me onto his lap, I pivoted to straddle him, feeling myself perfectly positioned against what was clearly a raging hard-on.
“Prettiest wolf I’ve ever seen,” he murmured, wrapping one of my red curls around his finger. Then his hand moved up to the back of my scalp and he pulled me to him.
His lips met mine. I’d expected something gentle, tentative and soft. This kiss wasn’t. He was demanding and forceful. His hand twisted into my curls, pulling the hair so tight it stung. I was trapped, his one hand controlling my head, his mouth devouring mine, his other arm pinning me against him. I, second to the Alpha, was well aware that this guy could crush me, could do whatever he wanted to me and beyond inflicting some minor damage, I’d lose in a fight against him. It wasn’t just that a grizzly would always beat a lone wolf, it was the force of his personality, the internal strength of the man. I’d met powerful Alphas before. Jake of the Swift River Pack was like a current of hot, dangerous electricity, unpredictable and deadly. Karl was…he was like the mountains that separated us from Canada—huge, quiet, unmovable, and even more deadly in his own way.
It made me feel unsettled and on edge to lose control to another like this. And it turned me on beyond belief.
I shuddered, my tongue playing with his as I slid my hands up his chest. Everything about this man filled and touched every sense. I tasted his mouth, felt the hard muscles of his chest and shoulders, smelled his wild woodsy scent mixing with my light perfume. He growled, a low rumble deep in his throat, then pulled his mouth from mine, releasing my hair to fumble with the buttons on my shirt.
“Don’t want to tear your shirt,” he said.
It was adorable, this rough sexy man trying to undo tiny pearl-shaped buttons and not rip them off in his hurry to get me naked.
“Here.” I helped, popping them loose one at a time, then slid the fabric from my shoulders.
He drew in a ragged breath, his eyes devouring me. Then he took a finger and traced the lacy edge of my scarlet red bra. I felt my nipples harden as he brushed his palm over one. With a snap he’d unhooked the center closure and the bra hung loose on my breasts. I went to shrug the undergarment off, but he stopped me, slowly nudging the lace aside with his fingers until the small globes popped free.
He cupped one breast in his hand and bent his head to the other, licking and nibbling across the skin before pulling my taut nipple into his mouth.
I arched my back, losing myself in the feel of him. He pinched and rolled, nipped and sucked. I moaned, grinding against the bulge in his pants. He might have not wanted to rip my shirt, but I had no such restraint. Putting my werewolf strength to the test, I gripped the cotton neckline and tore downward, running my hands over the warm skin of his chest.
He made that low, deep growl again and the sound shot heat right between my legs.
“Pants.” He muttered, shoving me backward onto the damp mossy ground. Before I could protest at the caveman tactics, he’d removed my shorts and undergarments. Then he stood, towering over me as he shucked off his jeans. My breath hitched as I watched. I was sprawled naked on the ground in front of him as he loomed over me, muscled and powerful, eyeing me like a cougar watches a snared rabbit. Me. A wolf. Wet and quivering, feeling helpless before an apex predator. I’d never been so turned on in my life. And judging from the incredible boner the grizzly shifter was sporting, he was equally aroused.
I took action, springing to my feet and slamming into him, driving him back against a tree as I pressed myself against his torso. He was so darned tall that I could do no more than kiss his chest, nipping and licking as he’d done to me. I reached a hand between us to grip him, giving his shaft a few quick, firm strokes.
He groaned and slid down the tree, pulling free from my hand, and yanking me down on top of him once more. I squealed, losing my balance and squashing my face against his shoulder where I felt the rumble of his laugh. His arm flexed, pulling me firmly against his broad chest, holding me steady as he trailed a line of hot kisses down my throat. I squirmed against him, trying to rise up so I could sheathe his cock between my legs, but he held me tight.
Then his fingers slid down the crack of my ass, skating between my folds and brushing against my nub. I arched back in his arms, my fingers digging into his shoulders. His breath caught, then his finger slid into me. I opened for him, eager for more, and he obliged.
“Damn. You’re tight,” he murmured against my neck. “This might not work.”
“It will work,” I gasped, riding his hand. “Trust me, it will work.”
Pulling his fingers free, he glided the slick wetness along my folds. I rose on my knees as he positioned himself, then lowered slowly onto his cock—slowly because he was a lot to take in. I stretched around him, feeling the burn of being widened almost to the edge of pain. He gripped my hips, holding me still a moment to adjust before letting me slide down an inch at a time.
The whole time I couldn’t stop watching his face. There was a muscle that tightened in his jaw, a hiss that escaped his full lips, an unfocused sheen in those eerie gold-flecked eyes.
“You’re right. I think you might be too much for me.” I was only half teasing, and I didn’t just mean the size of his dick either. He was too much for me—too intense, too wild, too primal. He made me feel unbalanced, buffeted by a force greater than me. It was like a carnival ride gone crazy, with no safety harness whatsoever.
“I think you might need someone who’s too much for you,” he growled. “And next time I’m ripping that shirt right off you. Pretty bra too. With my teeth.”
I drew in a ragged breath at the suggestion and lowered all the way, feeling the incredible fullness of him balls-deep inside me. Then slowly I moved. His muscles tensed, fighting to hold himself back as he let me set the pace, his hands on my hips for support. As I increased the speed, leaning forward so I could rise all the way up, then sink completely down onto him, his fingers tightened, digging into my flesh. They’d leave bruises. I didn’t care. Actually, the pressure spurred me on and I rocked against him, tightening internal muscles.
He groaned, and took over, thrusting into me, harder longer faster, push
ing his hips upward to meet mine on every stroke. Everything merged together—the intoxicating wild scent of him, his cock pounding into me, his low growl of pleasure, the golden glowing flecks in his hazel eyes. It all became one sensation, and my muscles tightened around him, everything tensing as I felt my orgasm crest and crash over me.
I cried out, and bit down on his shoulder hard enough to draw blood.
“Bad girl,” he chuckled, then bucked into me harder, his rhythm going off the rails. I gasped and tightened around him once more, moaning something incoherent that sounded an awful lot like begging.
“Fuck,” he shouted, closing his eyes and jerking his head back. I shook, muscles weak only to feel another wave of ecstasy, this one stronger than the last, rush through me. He thickened inside me, and I felt his release, felt it spill into me as I trembled with another wave.
He was going to kill me. And what a way to go. I slumped on top of him, smelling the metallic tang of blood from my bite, the scent of our sex, the aroma of his skin, warm and woodsy.
I was panting, like I’d just run a record-breaking sprint. I was sweaty. My hair was a tangled mess of red against his tanned chest. No doubt my mascara was smudged under my eyes and my lipstick smeared halfway across my cheek. I didn’t care. All I could do was lay there on top of him.
He stirred inside me.
“Seriously?” I gasped, using his chest to push myself upright. “You’re getting hard already? What are you, Superman?”
“Better. I’m a bear shifter.” He grinned up at me. “Why? Got somewhere you need to be, wolf-girl?”
I tried to lift off of him, but he held me tight, skewered on his cock. “Not until morning. Why?”
That grin turned downright salacious. “’Cause I was hoping to make a night of this. You game?”
Was I ever. “All night? Like we just did?”
A concerned frown creased his brow. “That was gentle. Was hoping we could have some fun, maybe get a little rough.” His hand reached up to touch the bite on his shoulder. “I promise I won’t draw blood, but kinda like it when you do.”
Yes, this man was going to be the death of me. I wiggled on his lap, thrilled to see that muscle twitch in his jaw again. “I’m totally game, wild man. And I’ve got all night.”
The sky was peach and orange with the sunrise, birds chirping. I hadn’t slept a wink and was sore in all the right places. I wanted to stay and see how long this crazy grizzly could keep it up, but I had responsibilities. Someone had to help Brent with clean-up from the party, and I needed to check on an ad campaign I was running so I could have a weekend effectiveness report ready first thing Monday morning. So instead of going in for round six, or seven, or whatever we were at, I kissed Karl on the nose and stood, gathering up my clothes.
“That was a whole lot of fun, wild man. Don’t be a stranger.”
His hazel eyes were intent as they watched me walk away. “I don’t intend to.”
Chapter 1
Eleven months later
“Hey Sabrina.”
I matched Kennedy’s high-five, walking out the door of the Alpha house as I walked in. I liked Brent’s new mate. And I liked him even better now that his woman was living here in Juneau instead of down in Seattle. Having her fly up to Anchorage for the trauma center every three days was better than having a grumpy Alpha who only saw his mate twice a month. They’d had a whirlwind romance this spring, and already she was an integral part of our pack. Kennedy was human, but a kick-ass human with a great sense of humor and a quick mind. She’d become one of my best friends, and I couldn’t wait for her and Brent’s mating ceremony this fall.
“Is Brent in the great room?” I asked.
Kennedy grabbed a roll-aboard suitcase and a slung a duffle over her shoulder. “Kitchen. We still on for a trail run next weekend?”
“Absolutely.” I held the door for her, watching the woman jog down to her car before heading toward the kitchen. The Alpha House was enormous—eight bedrooms, a dining room that seated thirty, a great room that took up half of the first floor, and a commercial-sized kitchen. That’s where I found my Alpha, scrubbing a fry pan.
“S’up, boss?” I plopped down at the long kitchen table, propping my feet up on the chair across from me and snagging an apple from a basket.
“We’ve got a rogue bear down Ketchikan way.”
I put the apple back, suddenly not hungry. “Who’d he kill?”
Brent didn’t mean a regular bear, he meant a bear shifter. We were all descended from Nephilim, our diluted angel powers giving us added strength, speed, healing, and the ability to shift form. Ninety-five percent of us were wolves, but that other five percent could be bears, cougars, falcons. Heck, I’d even heard there was some badass boar dude down in Nebraska. Since werewolves were the dominant shifter breed, we were the ones with the big target on our backs. The angels might no longer consider us one wrong move away from extinction, but they still were pretty heavy-handed when it came to us following their endless rules and restrictions. Killing humans was a big no-no. Bigger than big.
“A group of five human scientists studying fungal strains in glacier ice.”
What the heck? Did they annoy the guy? Steal his smoked salmon? Play loud music in their tents at night? Bear shifters were weird. They were reclusive, introverted, quick to anger, insanely territorial, and notoriously grumpy. And I wasn’t being sexist in thinking the rogue was a male. Females, sows, were only one in ten of the bear shifter population. They tended to be slightly more social, living in cities, and having sexual relations with humans except for a few months in the spring when the bear shifter males reluctantly put on clothes and ventured into town to get laid.
No wonder the males were grumpy. Their solitary existence, and the scarcity of females, meant they only got the chance to bury their sticks in some fur a few times per year. Of course it was their own fault that they didn’t make more of an effort. And sexual frustration was no excuse for killing five scientists.
Even so, it wasn’t our problem. Well, maybe tangentially it was our problem, but there were others better suited to deal with this guy.
“So let the bears deal with it. Did you call the sloth?”
Brent put the fry pan in a cabinet and turned to me with a pained expression on his face. “I did. I called four of them. I’m sure you can guess how they reacted.”
Yeah. Although it was midsummer and the bears should be downright jovial. Well, jovial for a bear, anyway. “Isn’t that Eric guy down near Ketchikan? Tell him he’s got a rogue trying to poach his fish and see how fast he gets his furry butt in gear.”
“Eric’s phone is out of service, and from what I’ve heard he’s roamed east, over the mountains into Canada.”
That was the problem. Bear shifters were territorial, but many weren’t opposed to pulling up stakes and moving their “territory” five hundred miles elsewhere. No forwarding address. No social media or friends to tell you where the heck they’d gone. We had a hierarchy, a pack. Wolves didn’t just vanish without a thorough manhunt twenty-four hours later. Bears had their sloth, but it was more a loose affiliation of the shifter breed. Black bears were a little better since they tended to cluster in family groups, but the brown bears were as individualistic as they came. They had no Alpha, no directory, no regular meetings or check-ins. There were so few of them that the angels didn’t bother to keep track of them. And even if they did attempt to do so, I doubted even those all-powerful winged-beings could manage to find a grumpy, reclusive bear who’d been mostly off-the-grid from the day he was born.
“Humans? Who’s that sheriff down there we met with last October? He seems competent.” I was grasping for straws. I really didn’t want to spend this week tromping through wet forests, battling a gazillion stinging insects while I sniffed out a rogue bear. I had a job, and although I could move deadlines around and manage my marketing campaigns on the fly, it wasn’t an easy thing to put aside my career for my pack responsibilities.
> But pack came first. Pack always came first.
Brent folded his arms across his chest and raised one inky-dark eyebrow. “Rogue, Sabrina. Humans are working with us about the shifter-hunters up north, but it’s our responsibility to police rogue shifters and bring them to justice.”
I winced. Justice for a rogue wolf would be exclusion from hunts, banishment, or a transfer to another pack. Our society was our life. But bears… Justice for a bear shifter meant death.
“Fine. Who am I taking with me? I’m assuming at least six or seven other wolves?” I was Brent’s second, next in line for Alpha, but I wasn’t tough enough to bring down a bear shifter solo. No one was.
“Normally, but one of the bears agreed to go, so it’s just you and him.”
I felt my muscles lock up, my breath stuck in my lungs. No. Just, no. “Who?”
“Karl. You met him at the barbeque last August.”
I’d more than met the grizzly shifter at the barbeque last August, I’d gotten naked and sweaty with him in a crazy drunken night that still haunted my dreams and had me reaching between my thighs at least once a week since then. My whole life I’d lived in Alaska and I’d never met him—that’s how much a loner this guy was. For some reason he’d tromped out of the forest to eat burgers and drink beers with us wolves last year. We’d wound up down by the creek with a bottle of whisky. Just the two of us. And thinking about that night was bringing back the sort of memories that had me squirming in my chair.
“You okay?” Brent shot me an odd look.
My Paranormal Valentine: A Paranormal Romance Box Set Page 43
