by BA Tortuga
He barreled through the wet grass, his boots slip-sliding. He could hear gunfire, then a wild roaring that split the air.
Jesus.
Connor’s voice answered, though, the sound earsplitting.
Damn the gun; he had to stay human to use it and carry it. He ran as fast as his legs would take him, careening toward the light cast by two sets of headlights.
He saw the muzzle flash as Connor shot, but the big bear didn’t even flinch, didn’t back away so much as an inch. Christ, the guy was a monster. Some sort of hybrid.
He took aim as he ran the last twenty feet, ready to blast the man with whatever shot this gun had in it. He braced himself for the shot, but the old rifle kicked like a mule, sending him stumbling back. He caught his foot on a root and went down with a splash, his arms windmilling as the rifle went one way, his free leg went the other, and he ended with a snootful of mud.
When he tried to stand, he howled. His foot was good and caught. Good thing wolf paws were small and it wasn’t his driving foot, which he needed for later. He shifted quickly, the wolf able to shrug off the pain in his back paw.
He heard Connor’s scream, the sound slammed into his ears. Then he heard this insane smatter of thought.
Ohnoyoudontyoumotherfuckerthatoneisminedoyouhearmeyousmellypieceofrottenshit?
What the fuck was that?
Brock looked up when he slid free of the root and boot and saw the huge bear swaying, standing on its hind legs not five feet from him. Jesus.
There was no way.
No way to get away.
Come on, motherfucker. You come for me. I’m only little. You can pick your fucking teeth with my skinny ass.
It was a roar, a thought unlike anything he’d ever heard, and for a half second, he was grateful it had worked, because the bear turned.
Then panic gripped him, because the minor mountain rumbled and dropped to all fours, running full steam back toward Connor.
Brock hesitated for a crucial damned moment, trying to decide. Go for the heels or try to shift and use the gun?
Connor made this amazing goddamn leap, clearing the bear’s back and landing in the bed of the truck before climbing up on the roof of the cab and roaring again.
The sound echoed under the clouds, the thunder answering Connor. Brock leaped for the bear’s vulnerable back legs, knowing he needed those for balance. If he could cripple even one tendon….
Connor was right. This beast stank to high heaven.
Watch out, mate!
One of the big paws swooped down, caught him on the side of the head, and he had to let go or lose his head altogether. He rolled with the impact as much as possible, then popped back like a prairie dog, ready to dive back in. He saw Connor swipe at the bear’s sensitive nose with one paw, the roar coming from his kitty again.
Another blast of pure thought hit the air like a slap. You leave him alone!
The rage of his bobcat was a sight to behold.
The bear staggered back, batting at his ears. Then it all went south in a damned hurry. Brock lunged in for another bite, the bear turned toward him, and Connor leaped over the bear’s head toward the other truck, trying to distract.
He saw the swipe coming, saw the huge paw swinging, and he knew without a shadow of a doubt it was going to connect with his head. Connor twisted midair and took the impact, giving him a shot at the unprotected rear leg, that Achilles that could be snapped.
He saw Connor go flying, then slam against the big duallie, the small golden body landing with a thump in the mud.
Brock howled, ready to rip the guy’s throat out. The sound of an engine behind him startled him, and Brock whirled, seeing the rancher with the ATV come flying over the rise from the pasture and bump down toward them.
In what had to be the most spectacular rescue known to man or shifter, the rancher gunned the motor, putting all the speed that four-wheeler had into the charge. Then he shifted right there on the handlebars and took flight, a huge golden eagle rising up out of the way as the ATV hurtled toward Greg.
God love rednecks.
That fucking four-wheeler hit Greg in the head and just took it clean off his shoulders like a… shit, he didn’t even have a like.
Brock ran, hunting Connor’s still form.
Connor. Connor, mate.
Nothing answered him, and Brock felt icy fear clutch his heart. He howled again, the only way he knew to express his anguish.
The eagle landed on the bear’s body, fluttering his wings in pure triumph, but it didn’t matter.
Connor.
He stumbled over, sore and limping.
Connor.
Blood dripped from Connor’s open muzzle, his chest barely moving.
It was moving, though. He barked at the eagle, hoping his meaning was clear—help me one more time.
The huge bird bowed, bobbed, then shifted, the lean blond man shivering in the rain. “Let’s get y’all to the house.”
Brock looked at his truck, which was trashed. After the ATV had cut a swath through Greg, it had landed on his truck.
“The other truck looks fine. Smelly, but fine. You get in, and I’ll grab your gear from your vehicle.”
Brock shifted, his ankle screaming at him when he picked up his limp lover’s wet form.
“What’s your name, man?” The eagle moved lightning fast, picking weapons from the ground like he was gathering food.
“Brock.” He wrinkled his nose when he got to Greg’s truck. It was spotless but smelled like infected ass. What the hell had Greg been sick with? Rabies?
Christ.
“Aaron. Please. Ee-oo, that’s some stinky shit in there. He alive?”
“Yeah. He’s breathing.”
“Here’s your two survival blankets. Hop in. I got one more trip to your truck.”
“Th-thank you.” His teeth started to chatter.
“Marilyn’s got Eve. She’s making tea.”
“That your wife?”
“Yessir.”
Brock wrapped Connor in a blanket. “Don’t you be all damaged, Ragbone. I need you. Crazy Kit. I swear to God, I can’t go back home and tell them I let you get hurt for me.”
Nothing.
He whined softly, praying to the moon, to any god that would hear him.
Their bags hit the floorboard by his feet, and he realized the lights had gone off on his truck and the ATV. “I doubt the state troopers will show, but you never know. No sense advertising. I’ll come back for the other vehicles and the carcass.” Aaron put Greg’s truck in gear. “Lord, that one had to have had some kind of sickness.”
“Yeah. I hope the babies are okay.”
“She wouldn’t have slept with him if he was diseased. They have a wild sense of smell.”
Right. So when she left him, something awful took him. The bastard deserved it.
They headed up to the ranch house the long way, bumping over a cattle guard.
“Your fence.” Brock felt bad about that.
“Cattle are on the back forty right now. I can fix it tomorrow.”
“You run a lot of cattle?”
“Few hundred head.”
“I guess riding fence is easy for you.” An eagle could fly around and note places that needed repair.
“Shit, son, I hire that done these days.” They pulled up next to a great little frame house with a log face. “Inside. My lady needs to look at your mate.”
“She a doctor?”
“Vet.”
“Thank God.” Relief weakened his knees, but he managed to lift Connor up and stagger into the house carrying him.
“Lord love a duck, boys. You look like something the cat dragged in.” A lean, tanned lady with prematurely white hair waved Brock through the kitchen to a hall. “Might as well put him in a bed.”
“Is he okay?” Evie was crying again.
“Drink your tea, girl.” She glanced at Brock, who couldn’t find an answer. “I’m Marilyn. Bear attack?”
“Yes, ma’am.” H
e gently laid Connor on the bed, then stood there, hands at his side.
“Sit. You look about ready to fall down.” She looked at Connor, and her frown deepened. “Let me get my bag. Don’t move him any more.”
Brock sank to the floor next to the bed because his leg wouldn’t hold him anymore. He reached up, touching his ear, which was bleeding like hell.
“I’ll grab you a couple towels, Brock. Towels and a beer.” Aaron gave him a sympathetic look. “Marilyn will check you out after.”
“Thank you.” A towel would be great. He’d take the beer too. Ragbone? Where are you, mate?
He hated that silence. Hated it. His Ragbone’s voice was his to listen to. Brock wouldn’t be able to bear it if the last thing he heard from Connor was that furious roar at the end of the fight.
Brock leaned against the bed, trying to remember how to breathe.
He felt a gentle touch to his hair, and he glanced up at Evie, who wore a ridiculous flannel nightgown. “Let me wash up your head, Brock.”
“Connor?”
She shook her head. “Still out. Marilyn’s trying to help.” She reached down and lifted him to standing with a casual strength that stunned him.
“Urgh.” His ankle was really crookedy. He glanced at Connor’s still form, but Eve pulled his arm over her shoulder and half steered, half carried him out of the room. “I need to….”
“You need to come and sit. Let us help.”
“My mate.”
“I know.” She sat him down in the bathroom on the closed toilet. “I’m so sorry you both got hurt. This is all my fault.”
Brock snapped out of his funk just enough to glare at her. “No, it is not. That dead asshole diseased fucker out there is at fault. You might have had a lapse in judgment, but that’s all you can take responsibility for, kiddo.”
“He was crazy. Mean. He hadn’t been, you know. He was charming and sweet.”
“When did he turn off mean? When you left to go back to school?”
“No. When I left, he swore he was going to court me long-distance. Then he took this business trip to China. I mean, he has to have always been a jerk, right?” She ran the water in the sink until it steamed before soaking a washcloth to clean his face.
“I think he was sick, honey. It’s over now. He’s… he’s dead.”
“Good.” Her eyes went black for a moment, pure bear. “That way they never have to worry about him.”
“Never. We’ll take you to the pack—me and Connor.” God, he needed to call Sam and Gus. He had to tell them that….
Tell them what? He should wait to see what Marilyn said.
“Here, look up.” Eve washed his eyebrow and cheekbone too. “Do you want me to run you a shower?”
“No. No, take me back to Connor.” He ached deep in his chest, and his head was pounding with Connor’s absence. He’d never tell Connor he was too loud ever again.
No. No, his mate was not going to die.
No fucking way.
“Okay. Okay, let me wrap up your ankle first.”
“I can do that, honey. Aaron had to go clean up some out in the road. Can you get him some hot tea and make some scrambled eggs and toast? He’ll need his energy to heal.” Marilyn waited in the doorway for Eve to slip past her, then came to kneel by his legs. “Let’s have a look.”
“My mate…?”
“Resting. His pulse is weak, his breathing too light, but he’s fighting. His eyes react and his gums are still pink. He needs to be quiet and still while his body works to repair itself. He’s got some shattered ribs and the shoulder is broken for sure. He’s fighting, though, and I have him sedated.”
“Okay.” Shattered. Broken. Christ. “Can I stay with him?”
“Of course.”
“Do you know where Aaron put my bag? My phone. We have family expecting us.”
“I’ll get it for you. He’ll heal faster with you close.”
“I can go back?”
She nodded, and while she didn’t have Eve’s strength, she helped him back into the bedroom once she’d wrapped up his ankle. Marilyn eased him down next to Connor, and he put his hand on Connor’s leg, far enough from ribs and shoulder not to hurt.
Connor groaned and pushed closer, curling right into him with a sigh.
That was a good sign, right? He stroked Connor’s hip, the fur cool but warming up now. “Come back to me soon, Ragbone. I’m lost. I need you to find me.”
For the most fleeting heartbeat, he felt a buzz, a call, then it faded again.
Brock closed his eyes, so tired, finally drying off. He would stay there with Connor as long as it took. This was his mate. No way was he giving up that easily.
24
“I’m going to bite your toes if you don’t wake up, Ragbone. You need food, and I need to see your eyes.”
Connor heard the words, slowly putting them together in an order that made sense. He was tired, and he was fairly sure there was nothing on his entire body that didn’t hurt.
So, toe biting was out of the question. Also, he needed to tell Sam to keep the puppies out of his bed. They’d ruined his nice firm mattress.
“Ragbone. Raaaaagggbone.” The voice went singsong, and callused fingers tugged his left pinky toe.
Okay, so that didn’t hurt. Shh. Sleeping, Fuzzy. Sam will cook you bacon.
A rush of pure, near-painful joy hit him in a wave. Will he? He just might. He’s been threatening to come out here.
Where is here? He frowned a bit, and that did hurt, his skin pulling at his hairline. Ow.
Here. With the eagles. You missed the bear getting beheaded by the ATV. Brock, because that was his mate’s voice, stroked his ankle.
The bear. There are eagles? Are you speaking English?
Wake up and look at me, and I’ll tell you everything. Brock scooted up next to him, hip against his.
Wake up. That shouldn’t be so hard to ponder, should it? He wanted to wake up; he wanted to see Brock. Hell, he wanted a drink of water, but his eyes wouldn’t open.
“Help me, Connor. I’m so lost without you.”
He’d heard that. He had. From a long way away, and he heard it now.
He forced his eyes open. Brock. Brock, you’re not lost. I found you.
“Oh, hey there, Ragbone. I never thought I would be so glad to see your mismatched eyes.” Brock sat right there in the light, which felt pretty bright.
He opened his mouth, but nothing came out, and his throat felt like sandpaper.
Brock frowned. “You want some water? Evie Bear is studying to be a nutritionist. She has tea and vitamin water and shit.”
He nodded, swallowing carefully, because ow.
Brock grabbed a glass of water from the bedside table. It had a Minions bendy straw sticking out of it. “Here, babe. Easy.”
Easy. He swallowed, the cold water splashing in his belly. He shuddered, his skin rising up in goose bumps. Oh. He breathed through his nose, and his body adjusted.
He rolled his feet, his wrists, bent his knees, searching for where he hurt. His shoulder screamed out and his ribs. That was okay, but Brock was all bruised.
He opened his mouth, and again, nothing.
Is Evie okay? Did her brothers come?
Brock nodded before shaking his head. “She’s fine. Her brothers are cleaning up what’s left of Greg’s operation and don’t want to lead anyone to her.”
Greg. Greg. Mr. Stinky. Oh fuck. His heart began to race, a flood of panic taking him over in a rush. The bear. The bear. Brock! Brock, he was going to get you.
“Shh.” Brock reached out and took his hand. “We did it. He’s gone, babe. You have to meet Aaron. He ran over Greg’s head with a four-wheeler.”
I don’t remember that. I would remember that. He fought to hold on, to catch his breath.
He hit you hard. Brock’s face twisted. You scared the shit out of me.
Mate. I want to get up. I have to go home. I— White-hot fear was going to drown him, and he tried t
o shift back, run, something.
“No. Babe. No, you have to calm down. You need to heal.” Brock’s hands were solid, warm, and implacable. “She’ll sedate you again if you can’t calm down, and I need you. I need you to be here with me.”
Sedate me? Who?
“Marilyn. You’ll meet her soon. Sam and Gus are here.”
We’re at the house with the lights? Goddess help him, he was confused, as if he’d woken up in Alice’s Wonderland.
“Yep. Nice folks. Aaron and Marilyn. Eagle shifters. Do you need to use the bathroom, babe?”
He tried to answer, but again, nothing came out, so he tried harder, tried to scream.
“No!” Brock got up in his face. “That has to be it. You did this saber-tooth kitty screaming at Greg. I bet you’re blown out.”
He’d been protecting his entire world. Of course he’d been screaming.
“Just let your voice rest.” Brock kissed his cheek. “Bathroom?”
Okay. Sitting up. He knew how to do that, right? You just sit up.
When he tried, nothing worked. He stared at Brock in a panic.
Brock slid one arm under his back and eased him up. “That’s the sedatives, babe. We can do this.”
Am I broken?
No. On that Brock sounded so sure. You were so hurt.
Brock carried him out of the room and around into a small bathroom. Limping. His mate was injured.
Mate? Are you well? I need to see. I need to see you.
You need to pee.
Connor was going to bite him. Hard.
Brock stared him down, or at least tried to. Connor gave in and peed and let Brock wash him up like a kid. Once they got back to the bedroom, though, he demanded Brock let him look at everything.
“Pushy butthead.”
He kissed every bruise, softly, gently, and by the end, he was drenched with sweat, breathing hard.
“I love you, Ragbone. Thank you for waking up for me. You need to rest some more, though.” Brock crawled into bed with him, holding him gently.
He blinked over, the waves of pain too much to bear, too hard to focus through. He closed his eyes and stopped trying. Brock told him it was okay to go back to sleep.
Connor had to believe his mate.
25
