Bearly Hanging On (Alpha Werebear Shifter Paranormal Romance) (The Jamesburg Shifters Book 6)

by Red, Lynn

  Ryan crouched back with his legs taut and ready to pounce. He considered shifting, but then, that might be exactly what whoever was holding him wanted, so possibly not the best idea to walk right into a trap.

  A quick glance around the room revealed absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. On one wall was an MC Escher print, the one with the hands drawing each other in a circle. Below was that a series of photographs of people who looked happy.

  Happy enough to have come with the frames, Ryan thought, allowing his most paranoid thoughts to dominate his mind. He narrowed his eyes to peer through the dimness of what he assessed was around seven at night, judging by the light coming through the mini-blinds. Unless this was all a set up and it's like Vegas, where they have the fake sky and all that in the hotels.

  He shook his head, figuring that might be going a step too far down crazy lane. Above the twin bed he'd occupied, which he was slightly surprised he even fit in at all, was a built-in mantle with a collection of boxed Star Wars toys, all impeccably dusted.

  Lifting both of his eyebrows and furrowing them together until they looked like one big, brown caterpillar, he tried to guess at what such a thing meant.

  It means a dork, he thought. Not even the best trap-house set ups would ever have Star Wars toys. He stood up, and crept silently across the room, plucking one of them off the shelf. It was a series two Han Solo, complete in box. "Even has the blaster pistol and the mistake lightsaber," he said with a tone of slight reverence. "This must be worth a—"

  "It's worth about the price of a used Toyota," said a small, but shapely woman who walked into the room so quietly he didn't even notice the door opening.

  Ryan spun on his heel, bracing himself against the prickly-textured wall, but made sure not to drop the figurine. Bending the packages really hurts the value, after all. "Who are you and where am I?" he spat out in one breath. "And why do you have bacon and hamburgers and pancakes on that plate?" That one took two words, but it was still hurried and carried slightly more panic than Ryan meant to convey. He snaked out a hand, snatched a sheet and covered himself.

  The woman sighed. She was wearing soft-looking, brown pajamas that had a bunch of different kinds of coffee printed on them - mocha, latte, espresso - next to various styles of mugs. "I'm Elena St. Claire," she said flatly. "And my husband, my mate, whatever, is a giant idiot who cares too much for people who are trying to steal his cows and end up getting bitten by vampires."

  Involuntarily, Ryan put his hand back to his neck. "That woman is... Did you just say vampire?"

  "Jamie? Yeah. Well, I mean, she's a halfsie."

  Ryan quirked his eyebrows again.

  "Don't do that," Elena said. "Makes you look like you've got a unibrow. Sit down, and try not to break the bed. Oh, and give that here." She gestured toward the Han Solo figure, which she fetched and replaced on the mantle. A set of heavier footsteps approached, but Ryan was so wild-eyed with confusion by that point, that he didn't even bother to try and hide again.

  Oh, and also there was bacon on that plate. Bacon is like bear kryptonite, except instead of killing them, they just really like it. Especially when it's in maple syrup, which this was.

  "What's a halfsie?" Ryan asked, still confused.

  "A really nasty thing to call someone," a huge man, who Ryan recognized as Thomas Westing, said as he strolled through the door. Elena rolled her eyes.

  "Jamie's my friend, it isn't like I'm being mean about it," she said.

  "True, but she is sensitive about it. Anyway, she's a really rare sort of shifter," the big guy said. "She's both human and animal at the same time, and during certain times - for her it's during a new moon, I think - she can turn into a bat. Also, she's a vampire, but that's neither here nor there."

  Ryan's eyes resumed being wild after he got over the confusion. He was staring at the plate when Elena set it on a tray that she'd placed on the tiny bed at some point. Ryan's stomach growled, and he reached out and grabbed three or four pieces - he wasn't really sure - and munched while still holding up his sheet.

  "He tries to steal your cows, and you let him sleep in the guest room and make me feed him," Elena said. "If I didn't love the fact that your heart was this big, I'd shoot you."

  West let out a grunted laugh. "Jamie wanted me to keep an eye on him. Said he might react strangely to the bite. Of course, she also thought you were going to wake up two days ago."

  "Three... days?" Ryan - who was smaller than West across the chest, but had thicker legs - grabbed a hamburger and looked at it suspiciously.

  "It isn't poisoned," Elena said.

  "And more importantly, there aren't any onions," West added. "She's used to cooking for bears." He punctuated this by reaching over and grabbing a pancake, which he rolled up and ate. "But speaking of all that, why were you in my field? And why did you have that fancy sled and all that? I've seen you around, you live with all those old folks down in the valley, right? That big house with the skylights?"

  Ryan looked back and forth between the two of them. She was so much shorter and lighter than the bear that it was almost impossible to believe what she'd said. "You two," he said around a mouthful of cheeseburger, which as promised, had no onions. "You're mates?"

  "Love comes in all shapes and sizes," West said, a proud smile spreading across his face.

  "Yeah," Elena jabbed him hard in the ribs with an elbow. "And with all sorts of IQs. You can clean up after your buddy. I'm going to go finish that episode of Outlander we started before Captain Grumpy woke up. Wipe him too, if he needs that."

  She had the sort of chip on her shoulder that was pretty obviously playful, but there was still something about the woman that Ryan didn't want to cross. He watched her leave, and West noticed the confusion on the younger man's face. "Fox," he said.

  Ryan was just nodding, and at some point, absent-mindedly dropped his sheet.

  "No, I mean she's a fox-shifter. Arctic. Not that she isn’t foxy, which she is, but I wouldn't say that to her face if you know what's good for you. I learned the danger of making fox puns about three weeks after we got together. Those jabs in the ribs she was giving me are nothing." He chuckled, looking off in the distance in fond remembrance. "Anyway, we have other business to attend, and I'm sure you're hungry and want to not be naked."

  This man - West - had a pleasant drawl in his slow speech, but the way he narrowed his gaze made it obvious he wasn't the sort to mess around with. Ryan knew the look, because he had it, too. But then again, Ryan Drake was still standing there buck-naked in the middle of someone else's house while that person was standing there too. Although West was clothed.

  "Yeah," he said. "Maybe clothes."

  West nodded and left Ryan alone in the room where he'd been for at least two days - Ryan's paranoid side told him maybe he shouldn't believe all of this, maybe he shouldn't have eaten that food, maybe he was in more trouble than he thought.

  West started whistling as he came back toward the end of the house where Ryan was. It was a cheery tune, made slightly haunting by the fact that if Ryan were in his position, he'd probably have killed the person who tried to steal his cattle. He'd have been right to do it, too; Jamesburg law was frequently lax in some ways, and frequently brutal in others.

  Something is wrong. Something isn't... No one is this nice. No one is this patient. Housing me for two days for no gain of his own? I don't buy it.

  The whistling was getting nearer and nearer, as were West's footsteps. Tension gripped Ryan's chest, tightening the muscles and making it difficult to draw breath. Then again, that could have been the vampire toxin. He had no idea. And that was the problem.

  I don't understand any of this. Any of them.

  A need to run gripped him, squeezing the bottom of his stomach. I need to run. I have to get out of here, get back home. Ryan could hardly control his racing thoughts. Panic surged through him and before he could take another breath, he was on the floor, he was growing fur, and his muscles were getting hard and
long and thick.

  "I brought you some jeans and—"

  A savage roar cut his host off, but West didn't recoil. He stood his ground, waiting to see what Ryan was about to do, waiting to see what was going to happen before he reacted. "If you want to leave, go right ahead. Like I said, I was only doing this for a friend."

  Raising one eyebrow, Ryan regarded him skeptically. Why would anyone be this kind without any reason? Especially to someone who was trying to rip him off?

  "But listen, one thing I'll tell you - or rather one thing Jamie told me. Don't go running around too much. She said everyone reacts to the bites differently, and you might get confused easy, or get lost, things like that."

  Ryan flexed his shoulders, fighting a stiffness that crept through his arms. It made no sense - moments ago, he felt fine, but as soon as he shifted, he grew lightheaded, like silkworms had filled his brain with cocoons.

  Of course, that just made him more insatiably paranoid. He imagined all sorts of scenarios that Stephen King wrote about at one point or another, none of which seemed appealing. He just didn't understand - why would anyone behave like this guy was unless there was something in it for them?

  "Ja... mie?" he growled, his voice low in his throat and barely understandable. Only someone used to the way voices changed mid-shift would be receptive. "Where...?"

  "Work, probably," West said. "And listen, she stopped you before you did anything foolish. You owe her," he said. He was getting angry, despite his flat tone. Ryan sensed the tension mounting, and with it, his need to get away grew and grew. "You owe her big."

  "Why?" Ryan managed to grunt. "Just why?"

  Ryan eyed the door. West squared up. "You ain't going out that way, friend," he rumbled. "If you leave it's gonna be out the door beside you, or maybe in a bag. I'll put up with you threatening me, but my mate is less patient."

  Was that what he was doing? Ryan shook his head. He didn't know anymore. He didn't think he was threatening anyone. He thought he was just scared, pinned against a wall, with no way to back up any further. Through his golden fur, the wall texture scratched his hindquarters. He looked back and forth. Then shook his head again.

  "I don't want this to go any further." West's voice had gone from flat to consciously soothing, but maintaining a quiet strength that was undeniable. "Don't test me. You're hurt and hungry and been unconscious for two days. I'm fresh as a damn daisy. Don't," he punctuated his words with a crack of his knuckles, "test me."

  Slowly, Ryan backed away, using the wall as his guide. He bumped against a night stand and navigated around it, back and back and back some more. West stayed exactly where he was, tensely crouched, but not moving an inch, not taking his eyes off the would-be cattle rustler, not for a second.

  "That's it," he coaxed. "There you go. The door is six feet further, on your right hand side." There wasn't a shred of fear in his voice. He was so calm, so cool and collected. Ryan envied him, envied the way he was able to keep his nerves and feelings in check.

  The rage in Ryan's heart was coming in waves. It rose, then subsided. Cool then hot, cool then hot. He felt like he had when he was in that courthouse, staring down that asshole wolf. He felt like he did when he was protecting someone who didn't deserve to be hurt or forgotten.

  Scared.

  Nervous.

  Anxious.

  Run. Run. Get away.

  The words echoed through his mind with every pounding thump of his heart. He wanted to go, needed to more than anything. A vision of the woman danced in front of his eyes. Her lithe body, as she struck him from behind and wrapped her legs around his waist.

  He started to remember the way her teeth felt as they pushed in, and how helpless he'd been.

  Helpless.

  Trapped.

  He didn't understand why, but he lunged forward. Panic-stricken and wild. West batted away a paw with a human hand, and then crouched, transforming. His jeans tore and his button-down plaid shirt tore at the seams. Seconds later, two golden bears faced each other, and one really irritated looking fox woman was standing behind them.

  "I told you!" she shouted, before slamming the door. She grumbled something about having to clean her mate's wounds afterward, but West, after all his patience and calm, made the first post-shift move.

  He feinted with his head, and when Ryan took the bait and tried to strike, lashed out one of his paws, backhanding the smaller bear across the face, leaving bruises but no blood. Ryan stood on his back legs, head six inches from the ceiling, and let out a roar. West held his ground, tattered plaid hanging off his shoulders.

  "Go," he snarled. "Don't make another mistake."

  A look of realization came over West, and he backed away slightly. "You're scared," he said, as he shifted back to human form, clothes barely covering him. "I know that look." He was nodding. "I'd know it anywhere. I've had it before. I had it when I..." he trailed off. "Doesn't matter. Take the clothes, take the food. It ain't my way to hold someone's fear against them."

  His zen-like calm was more disconcerting to the panicked bear than was aggression. West turned, but froze when he grabbed the door handle. "Just don't do anything to that figure," he said with a grin. "Take the clothes, take the food, and there's even some money in the jeans. Take it. But if you hurt Han, I'm coming for you."

  "Aw, hell, Elena," Ryan heard as he collected the jeans, and stuffed another hamburger into his mouth to calm his starving stomach. "He's just scared. He's probably a good kid, just..."

  Confusion overwhelmed him again, but this time, somehow, Ryan Drake managed to control himself long enough to escape into the woods.

  And the thought to hurt the Han Solo figure never crossed his mind.

  -5-

  “There are three kinds of people in the world. There’s me, there’s you, and... wait no, there are a whole lot more than three.”

  -Erik

  "He did what?" Jamie asked louder than she meant to be, loud enough that the guy in the next office banged on the wall for the fifth time that day. It had been a long morning of misfiled reports and one supremely whiny alpha.

  "I told you three times already," Elena said. "West won't say anything because he doesn't want anything to happen. He just keeps saying that the guy was scared, and he used to be like that and blah, blah, blah."

  "You're not too happy about this, huh?"

  "You're goddamn right, I’m not! He was trying to steal a cow, and then after keeping him in my guest room for three days, he shifts and tries to fight my mate?"

  "Well, I can't blame you. He didn't break anything, did he?"

  A moment's pause.

  "Well, no." She coughed. "I guess not."

  "Shut up! Some people actually have to work in here!" The voice from the next office, that belonged to the senior administrative assistant - a new wolf, young one from Erik's pack - who was very busy trying to prove his value to Erik. Norman Jeffress, the baby wolf. She laughed every time she saw him, but he was a hardworking kid, even if he was majoring in history under Professor Duggan.

  She couldn't hold everything against him, no matter how much she wanted to.

  Jamie accidentally laughed, or rather, snorted into the phone. "Sorry," she said. "New guy is really laying it on thick."

  Elena laughed next. "Yeah, you think he'd figure out by now that no one works at the courthouse."

  Jamie, ever the picture of elegance, snorted, and then made a sort of honking sound. "God, I know," she said. "At least Erik and Izzy have stopped doinking all the time."

  "How's that going, by the way?"

  "Them not doinking? He's getting cranky, but—"

  "No, no, her being pregnant with a wolf. I can't imagine how much of a saggy, baggy mess I'm going to be when West decides he wants to have a bouncing cub."

  "Oh God, don't even start," Jamie said. "Imagine how stretched out I'll be when—" she caught herself before she said anything, but really, she already said plenty. Elena, however, chose not to say anything, which was p
retty damn nice of her, considering.

  "Wait a second," she said about four breaths later.

  Yeah, okay maybe she didn't gracefully pass up the chance.

  "Did you just admit that you're doinking the guy you bit and then put up in my house while he got over being a vamp snack?"

  Jamie took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of her nose. "I, er, well first thing, can we stop saying 'doink'? It reminds me of the noise a clown hammer makes. You know, the big inflatable rubber things you win at the fair?"

  Elena imitated the sound, and then imitated Jamie's generally breathy, calm voice. "I'm Jamie and I'm doinking a lumberjack bear that tried to steal a cow."

  There went the honking again. She really wished she could stop doing that, but right then it was too late for her to quit sounding like a goose every time something funny happened. Luckily, she didn't have to explain herself because a very pissed off Erik Danniken's voice burst through the PA on Norman's desk.

  “I am not doinking the lumberjack,” Jamie said, before more squawking came through the PA.

  Jamie took the phone away from her head and craned her neck to listen. "Oh hell, hey, Elena? I think I gotta go. Erik's ranting about something, and Pee Wee gets all upset whenever he can't calm him down.”

  "It'd probably help if you quit calling him Pee Wee, but all right. I'll catch you later. And don't think I'm gonna forget about you putting your boyfriend in my house."

  Jamie went to correct her, but as soon as she had her mouth open, the line went dead. So instead, she just shook her head and laughed - normally this time, because she only honked when other people were listening. She stretched her wings, and immediately thought about the only other thing she did only when people were watching: pretend that being different didn't bother her.

  She clenched her eyes closed and focused.

  "That. Ass. Hole," Erik said it like that to punctuate each word and make himself sound more well-spoken. No one had ever figured out why he thought it worked like that. "He is stealing food! And wood! Why wouldn't he give me time to do something about all those old people? Hell, you know I have no idea what in the world to do about them."