by Vella Day
His Rogue Bear
Weres & Witches of Silver Lake
Book 11
Vella Day
Copyright © 2018 Vella Day
His Rogue Bear
Copyright © 2018 by Vella Day
Kindle Edition
www.velladay.com
[email protected]
Cover Art by Jaycee DeLorenzo
Edited by Rebecca Cartee and Carol Adcock-Bezzo
Published in the United States of America
E-book ISBN: 978-1-941835-70-8
Print book ISBN: 978-1-941835-71-5
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief questions embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events or locales, is entirely coincidental.
One murder. One lost memory. Two mates trying not to die.
Werebear Blair Murdoch doesn’t think things can get any worse. Boy, is she wrong. While she struggles to find her bear, she has to deal with a super hot werewolf, Ronan Laramie, who insists on sticking around. The problem is that she can’t remember a damn thing about a murder she’s supposed to have committed. Talk about going from bad to worst.
Ronan considers his assignment to protect Blair good fortune until he finds out that he has to battle with his wolf to keep from ravishing her every second of every day. Then catastrophe strikes, and Ronan has no choice but to prepare for battle.
Can these two star-crossed lovers live long enough to fulfill their fantasy life, or will a power great than they’ve ever known rip them apart?
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
About the Book
Epigraph
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Other Books by the Author
About the Author
Beneath the calm and shimmering surface lie intrigue, power, magic, and danger.
Welcome to Silver Lake—where appearances can be deceiving, and what you see isn’t truly what lies below.
Chapter One
‡
Blair Murdoch’s thoughts were speeding down all the wrong roads, hurdling past every blockade, and then tumbling into a tangled mess. Her physical therapy patients claimed she was the epitome of calm, but right now, she felt as if an opaque swath of gauze had wrapped itself around her mind, suffocating all coherent thoughts. Maybe her friend Ainsley was right. She needed to take a few days off from work.
Stabbing the key into her apartment front door, Blair twisted it, and shoved it open. The intense July heat was probably the culprit for her disorientation. That or something at work had done a number on her. Only what?
As soon as she stepped inside, Blair lowered the thermostat then tossed her keys and purse on the dining room table, feeling slightly better with the rush of cooler air. Her bright red sofa and the fun artwork on the walls usually boosted her spirits after a long day of work, but nothing short of a glass of white wine would perk her up tonight.
Stepping around the table to grab a bottle from the wine rack, she leaned over and froze. What the hell? A colorful mosaic of reddish brown was sprayed across her white work shirt.
Well shit. She tried to brush off the sprinkling of color, hoping it was some kind of powder, but nothing happened. As she examined the stain closer, her breath refused to expel. Holy fuck, it was dried blood. Forgetting all about her wine, she rushed to the bathroom to find the source.
One look in the mirror and she freaked. Besides the swath of color on her shirt, her auburn hair was mussed, faint bruising appeared on her upper arms, and her chin and cheek had speckles of dried blood that resembled an allergic reaction. As acid attacked her stomach with a vengeance, bile clawed its way up her throat. How had this happened? She would have remembered injuring herself, only nothing came to mind.
Blair lifted her shirt, and only after she found no evidence of an injury did that pent up breath she’d been holding sprint out. Only a few flecks dotted her white bra, implying the blood was someone else’s. Only where had it come from? She’d left work ten minutes ago and driven straight home. From the lack of smearing, she hadn’t rubbed up against anything. There was no way liquid could have flown in her window on the drive home. She always kept the air on this time of year.
Think! She remembered saying goodbye to Eve at the receptionist’s desk, who said nothing about Blair looking like a train wreck. She then left by the side door that led to the alley. Blair tried to picture walking past the dumpster to the parking lot in back and then climbing into her car, but that image refused to materialize. The only thing she recalled was putting the key in the front door lock a few seconds ago.
So what had transpired in between leaving work and arriving home? Concentrate! Had there been a lot of annoying traffic on the drive home, or had luck been on her side, and she’d flown down the streets? Damn. She couldn’t even dredge up one single memory, but that didn’t mean she’d stop trying.
Blair mentally snapped her fingers. Maybe she’d stopped to help a car wreck victim. That would explain where the blood came from. The trauma might have caused her to block out the horrible event. Yeah, that was it.
Or was it? She’d witnessed some pretty horrific injuries in her line of work and had never been squeamish before.
Sure, she’d been stressed out these last few weeks but not enough to cause her to forget something like being doused with what looked like arterial spray.
As much as she wanted to rip off her white uniform shirt and jump in the shower, her detective brother had trained her not to tamper with evidence—assuming that was what it was.
Most likely, her imagination had tumbled down the wrong rabbit hole, and the reddish brown coloring wasn’t even blood. A trickle of relief shot through her at that thought. To test her theory, she poured a bit of hydrogen peroxide on one spot. When it bubbled up white, the ramification nearly strangled her. It was blood. Only whose?
Scared, yet determined to get to the bottom of this, Blair strode back to the living room and snatched her phone from her purse to call Kalan. Hopefully, he wasn’t on some case for the sheriff’s department and not able to be reached. When on stakeout, he often turned off the ringer. If anyone knew of an accident, it would be him.
She dialed his number, and he answered on the second ring. “Hey, Blair.”
She didn’t detect any undue stress in his voice, meaning he might not have heard of the suppo
sed disaster. Knowing help was near, relief danced through her veins. Pressing the phone close to her ear, she edged her way over to the sofa and dropped down. “Thank goddess I got a hold of you. I think something bad has happened.”
“What is it?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know?”
She told him about the blood on her shirt and face. With each word uttered, her voice leaped upward, and a rush of panic flooded her system once more.
“Calm down,” Kalan said. “You said you witnessed a car accident?”
“No. I said the blood might have come from someone in a car accident, but I can’t be sure.”
“What is the last thing you remember?”
Logic was Kalan’s middle name. It was why he made a great Beta to the Clan as well as a detective. “Calling you.”
“No, I mean before that. After you left work.”
“I remember nothing.”
“Are you sure a patient didn’t bleed on you?” he asked.
She was a physical therapist, not a nurse. “Yes, I’m sure.” Her damn voice trembled.
“Are you okay though?”
Was he kidding? “No, I’m not okay. I can’t remember a damn thing. What if I hit someone with my car and severely injured them?” That was a reach, but she needed him to take her seriously.
“Was your car in an accident?”
“I don’t know.” Blair stood and peered out the window. Her blue Corolla appeared unscathed. “I mean no.”
“Blair, I’m sure there is a logical explanation. What worries me is that you can’t remember anything.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Here’s what we’ll do. Lock your doors, and don’t wash up or anything,” her brother commanded. A drawer closed, and then his keys jangled. “I’m on my way. Don’t worry. We’ll figure it out. Everything will be okay.”
“You don’t know that,” she blurted.
“Blair. Please. Do as I say.”
“Fine,” she said, though her chin was wobbling. At least Kalan hadn’t assumed she’d committed some terrible crime.
As soon as her brother disconnected, Blair sat down and closed her eyes, forcing herself to think—only nothing came to mind. After searching for some trigger to help with her memory, she opened her eyes wide. Oh, crap. She’d forgotten to lock her front door, something she normally did as soon as she stepped inside her apartment. She had clearly angered some goddess today.
Once she took care of securing her apartment, she poured that glass of wine that she now needed desperately.
Wait a minute.
Had Kalan told her to lock up because he believed someone was after her, or was he being his usual cautious self? His words of wisdom climbed into her mind and took root. He always preached never to jump to conclusions. She’d have to ask him when he arrived.
By the time her big brother knocked on her door, she’d bitten two of her fingernails down to the quick. Setting her drink down, she rushed to answer it. After checking that it was Kalan, she opened up, but because her hands were shaking, she hid them behind her back.
Kalan stepped inside and ran his gaze up and down her body. “My goddess, Blair—you weren’t kidding,” he said as he led her over to the sofa.
She was right. She did look bad. “Can I get you some tea or a glass of wine?” she asked, wanting things to be normal again.
“No, I’m good. Sit down and tell me everything.”
“I already told you everything.”
“Okay. Let’s start at the beginning. What time did you leave work?” Kalan asked.
Hadn’t she told him that already? Blair would have appreciated some sympathy first, but Kalan was a cop. “At the same time I always leave—five o’clock.”
“It’s six now. What happened between then—?”
As she grappled with his claim of what time it was, her pulse galloped. “Six? It can’t be! I just got home.”
Kalan studied her then pulled out his phone from his top pocket and showed her the time. “Are you saying you lost track of time too?”
She didn’t know what she was saying. “I, ah, left work at five and arrived home a few minutes ago. At least it seemed like only minutes.”
“But you can’t remember what happened in between?”
“No.”
Kalan tapped his fingers on his knee. “Could someone have drugged you? That might explain the time and memory loss.”
“No!” she practically shouted. “I would have remembered that.”
Kalan stabbed a hand through his hair. “Are you sure?”
Her back slumped. “No, I’m not sure of anything anymore.”
He rubbed her shoulder. “How about coming down to the station so we can check you out? If there are drugs in your system, don’t you want to know? It could explain a lot of things.”
It was a fact that women who had unknowingly been given Rohypnol—the date rape drug—weren’t even aware of it later on. The problem with that scenario was that she hadn’t had anything to drink, or so she believed.
Before she could agree to anything, his cell rang, and he lifted a finger. “Murdoch. I’m at Blair’s house, why? She had an…incident. When? Behind the Wellness Center? Damn. Sure. I’ll be right there.”
At the mention of her place of work, her heart plummeted. Kalan disconnected, but he didn’t make eye contact.
“What happened?” she asked, acid charging up her throat.
“A dead body was found in the alley behind your work.”
If she’d been upset before, it didn’t compare to the head pounding and the tightness in her chest she was experiencing right now. Blair had to cover her mouth to keep from throwing up. “Do you think I did this?”
“It doesn’t matter what I believe, but I’m afraid that I’ll have to take you in.”
“You’re arresting me?” she croaked.
Kalan let out a breath. “No, but we need to process you to eliminate any reasonable doubt. There’s a big difference. We need to collect the evidence first.” He nodded to her shirt. “Let’s hope the blood didn’t come from the victim, though even if it did, it doesn’t mean you harmed him. Maybe you were trying to help.”
Yes, that was it. She was trying to help. “Why would the victim still be in the alley? Wouldn’t I have called for help? The coroner would have taken him away already.”
“Let’s not jump to conclusions.”
While she prided herself on being strong, tears welled in her eyes. Only once before in her life had she been this devastated, and she never wanted to repeat that mental torture again.
Blair stood. “Do you mind if I take a clean set of clothes with me? I promise I won’t try to climb out the bedroom window and escape.”
“Blair, please. I know you’re innocent of any wrongdoing. You’re a Murdoch.”
She hadn’t been the upstanding Murdoch everyone believed when she’d lived in Georgia. “Thanks. I’ll only be a minute.”
With a lead ball rattling around in her belly, she trudged to her bedroom where she gathered some fresh clothes and stuffed them in a small overnight bag. It shouldn’t matter what she put on after the exam, but somehow her best black lace bra and matching panties would help her cope better. And because the sheriff’s department was notoriously cold, she grabbed a sweater. For ease of changing, she picked out a pair of lightweight capris to go with her black sleeveless shirt.
A large inhale didn’t help ease the pounding in her head or the riot going on in her stomach. Regardless of her emotional state, she needed to find some answers.
Chapter Two
‡
Blair had listened to Kalan tell stories about what went on at the sheriff’s department many times, but she’d never imagined being processed would be so humiliating. Standing on a large sheet of paper while someone watched as you took off your clothes was not only embarrassing, it implied guilt. Then there was the hair brushing, the nail scrapings, and even w
orse was the pelvic exam to rule out rape.
Blair didn’t want to think what prison would be like—invasive, taunting, and highly demoralizing. The only positive thing about the experience was that the person conducting the inspection was female, though Blair didn’t want to think about who would be looking at the photos. As far as she could tell, there were no markings on her body other than the bruising on her upper arms, so hopefully there wasn’t much to see.
“You can wash your hands and face in the sink over there. Then get dressed,” the attendant said as she handed Blair a set of maroon scrubs.
“I brought something to change into.” She nodded to the bag she’d placed on the chair. “My brother—Kalan Murdoch—said it was okay.”
The attendant’s eyes widened. “Then I’m sure it will be,” she said. “I’ll be back shortly.
So what was next? More questions she couldn’t answer? Agonizing over the future wouldn’t help her state of mind. Unfortunately, she couldn’t help it. As she dressed, Blair wondered if they’d toss her in jail until the blood results came back, or would they let her go home until they knew more?
Trying to find the silver lining, Blair had to believe that Kalan would do whatever it took to make the second option happen.
What seemed like a lifetime later, someone knocked on the exam room and then pushed open the door. It was Kalan, and Blair sagged in relief. “So?” she asked, hoping his sallow complexion and sad eyes didn’t indicate bad news.
“I’m afraid the blood on your shirt matches that of the deceased.”
“What?” Her vision turned dark, forcing Blair to grasp the examination table to keep from collapsing. “How is that possible?”
Kalan held up a hand. “Having the blood on your shirt is circumstantial evidence. It doesn’t mean you killed him.”
“Am I in the clear then?” Blair didn’t believe that for one moment.
Kalan pressed his lips together. “I’m afraid not. You also had gunshot residue on your hands.”