Wren and the Werebear (A Shape Shifter Romance Novel)

by Aubrey Rose

  The trail was steeper than she had thought it would be, and she spent a lot of time walking off on side paths, trying to find some evidence of a bear shifter. So far, nothing.

  It was not until another mile or so that the trail started to turn down and the sun was completely blocked out by the thick pines. Her shirt was soaked through with sweat and now, down in the shadow of the mountain between two ridges, a chill ran through her. She walked faster now, gun still at the ready. Trudging across a trickling creek, she lost her balance slightly and pitched forward on the stones. Catching herself on the creek bank, she looked up, and what she saw in the bush took her breath from her lungs.

  A tuft of light brown fur waved slightly in the wind, caught on a broken branch. The morning dew still beaded on the fur. She reached out, pinched it between two fingers, and examined it closely.

  It was easy to tell bear fur apart from most other animals in the forest. The grain was rougher than deer fur, and usually came off in tufts.

  So there was a bear around here. Wren already had her gun drawn, and she looked around now with the wary eyes of an animal of prey. There was another broken branch farther up the creek bed. Wren stepped forward slowly, her gun aimed down in front of her. She would not be caught off-guard.

  Step by agonizing step, she made her way up the creek bed. The trickle of water under her feet grew as she moved upstream, and the stones grew larger, with occasional small boulders strewn through the creek bed. The extra water made the rocks slippery, and she stayed to the side of the bank so that she would not stumble again.

  Better, too, for the hill rising up protected her on one side. The boulders were so large here that sometimes she had to circle them with her gun up and aimed, for she could not see over them to what was hiding on the other side. Every time she circled a boulder, her heart beat fast and she felt the adrenaline surge in her system. By the tenth time, she was growing tired from the constant tension in her muscles, but still she made her way upstream. She could not be careful enough. Tommy had not been careful enough. She would not make the same mistake.

  She followed the broken branches along the side of the creek for a quarter of a mile. The creek under her feet had grown to a steady stream—the ground lower down must be porous, she thought—and soon she was simply scrambling over the wet stones, her shoes soaked through. The boulders lining the creek bed were huge, and it took her longer to scout around them to make sure there was nothing hiding.

  Then there were no more broken branches.

  For ten yards or so, she saw no other signs of the bear, and she thought she might have lost the trail. She cast her eyes around, trying to find something that she had missed.

  A splash from up ahead made her heart jump, and her gun was up and aimed before she even steadied herself on her feet. The noise continued, but Wren could scarcely hear the murmur of the creek above the pounding of her pulse in her ears.

  Boulders and fallen trees had clustered up ahead, forming a natural dam. There was a small pool beneath the dam, a waterfall streaming down between two boulders coming from the top. She would have to climb up to get to the place where the splashing had come from, twenty feet or so above the level of the lower pool.

  Breathing hard, Wren made her way around to the side that seemed the most accessible. With one hand gripping her gun, she climbed up the side of the waterfall. The rocks here were wet, but the slope was not as steep, and she stepped up gingerly. There was nothing beneath her but the small pool of water and the rocks of the creek bed. Above her, though... Her heart beat fast. Her finger hovered near the trigger of her gun. She climbed, one-handed.

  The splashing had stopped, and Wren eased herself up over the side of the boulder slowly, cautiously. Perching on a narrow ledge, she stood up slowly, her gun coming up alongside her vision. She peeked over the boulder, slowly, slowly—

  "Ahh!"

  The face in front of her was so close that she screamed and started backwards, losing her balance. A large hand reached out and caught her by the arm that held her gun.

  Chapter Ten

  Her foot slipped, and her free hand grabbed at the arm which had caught her. A gasp escaped her lips as she recognized the blond hair, the light brown eyes twinkling above her. And... and...

  This time Dawson wasn't just topless. He was one hundred percent, bare-assed naked.

  While Wren was agape at his completely clothes-free body, he was keeping her from falling backwards into the lower pool. Finally her mind reassembled itself into something that could think half-clearly. Her feet scrambled for purchase on the boulders, trying frantically to regain her balance.

  "Stop squirming," the ranger said. "Let me pull you up over the ledge, okay?"

  Wren stopped. She looked up at the ranger's face, averting her eyes from everything happening below his waist. His unimaginably muscled, sexy hips. His—

  "Okay," she said breathlessly. But he didn't move to pull her up. Instead, his eyes darted down to her gun.

  "You're not planning to use that on me, right?" he asked.

  "I—n—no," Wren said.

  "Just making sure." The ranger grinned and lifted Wren up and over the boulder's ledge as though she weighed nothing. Her legs wobbled under her as her feet found solid ground on the top of the boulder. The upper pool above the dam was much larger than the bottom pool, and an even bigger waterfall streamed down the side of the mountain to feed it. Wren wouldn't have been able to continue tracking the bear anyway—the next waterfall was much too steep.

  "Now why don't you put that gun away and tell me what you're doing here."

  "I—I—you—I don't—" Wren waved her hand vaguely in the direction of his body as she tucked her gun back into her jacket. The ranger was just standing there next to the pool as though nothing was the matter. As though it was perfectly natural to carry on a conversation with a stranger in the nude. And now that her gun was away, she had nothing to look at but his... but him.

  "Can you put your clothes on, please?" she finally managed to stammer out.

  "Oh, I see how it is," Dawson said, crossing his arms across his chest. "You come and interrupt my morning swim, and you want me to change back into clothes when I'm not even dry."

  He wasn't dry. In fact, water was dripping off of his blond hair, trickling down every single inch of his hard body, dripping right off the end of his—

  "Please," Wren said, cupping her hands over her eyes in a last desperate attempt at civility. "I just—I don't—"

  "Alright, you win," Dawson said. "Give me one sec."

  Wren peeked through her fingers to see the park ranger diving off of the boulder into the pool. His lithe body moved in fluid strokes, his arms slipping through the water as he swam quickly across to the other side of the pool, thirty feet or so away.

  Wren's lips parted as he pulled himself up onto the boulders on the other side, and her skin, already hot, burned fiercely at the sight of his taut backside, the muscled curve of his back. He dried himself off with his shirt, his hands rubbing over his body quickly, and she had to turn away to swallow whatever it was that had jumped up into her throat. By the time she turned back, he'd put on his pants. Thank heaven for small favors.

  He walked back around on the narrow edge outside the pool, jumping from one boulder to another. His bare chest gleamed with moisture, his shirt slung around his neck just as it had been the first time she'd seen him.

  "Now," he said, making one final leap over to the boulder where she stood. "Will you tell me what the hell you're doing here?"

  "How about you put on your shirt first?" Wren said, crossing her arms over her chest. "Or don't you know what it means to get dressed?"

  "You didn't let me air dry, and I'm not wearing a wet shirt," Dawson said, tossing the soaked cloth down onto the boulder. "How about you tell me what you're doing here instead? Or don't you know what it means to stay on the trail?"

  "I got lost," Wren said, her skin still burning. "I was trying to find the trailhead."r />
  "Sure. And you thought climbing up a creek bed would get you back down to the coast. I know you're a city girl, but still—"

  "Okay," Wren said. "I was just curious." Her eyes flicked down involuntarily to his chest. The scars from an old wound stood out against his tan skin.

  "So curious you managed to climb up twenty feet of boulders with one hand?"

  "I wanted to see what was up here." I want to ask you about how you got those scars. I want to see more of them. Touch them. Wren blinked the thoughts away.

  "They're from an accident," the ranger said. "When I was little."

  "Oh." She didn't know how to respond. "I'm sorry."

  "You wanted to see what was up here, well, that's all that's up here. Why did you bring a gun?"

  "I always carry a gun in the city. And you said there was wildlife."

  "So you came up here to explore. And the gun... that's just for shooting all the squirrels that might attack you." He arched his eyebrow in disbelief.

  "That's right," Wren said firmly.

  "Well." He seemed to be waiting for something from Wren. She coughed.

  "Well?" she asked.

  "Now you've found me," the ranger said.

  He stepped forward and before Wren could say anything, his hand was brushing back the loose strands of her braid, cupping her chin in his hand. She could feel the strength of his muscles even in his fingers. His thumb ran across the line of her jaw. The touch thrilled her with its possessiveness, even as her mind recoiled. She couldn't do this. She had a boyfriend.

  Her mouth opened in protest, but before she could speak he had pressed his mouth down on hers, hard. It was a quick kiss, forceful and insistent, and the shock of it raced through her nerves even as she pushed herself away. He didn't stop her from stepping back, although he kept one hand locked tightly around her wrist.

  "Stop," Wren said, but the word came out weakly. He had already stopped, after all. "You can't—"

  "I know," the ranger said. A slow smile made its way across his face. "I was just curious."

  "Curious?"

  "To see what you tasted like."

  Her mouth went dry, and not because she had been hiking for more than five miles. The raw desire in his voice made her trembled in a way she'd never felt before. Still, there was no way she was going to let him control her. Not like this. It wasn't right.

  "Please let go of my arm," Wren said flatly.

  "I would, but you'd fall right over the edge."

  Wren looked behind her and gasped, immediately jumping away from the steep ledge. She turned to find herself inches away from the ranger's bare chest. Tremors ran through her, but he stepped back to give her room. She almost wished he hadn't, then berated herself for the wish.

  "Have a fun hike," the ranger said. "You'll excuse me, but I haven't finished my swim." His hands moved down to his zipper. "Unless you want to stay and examine the wildlife some more, of course."

  "No!" Wren said, flushing hard.

  "Then I'll see you around. There's a rope tied up on that tree branch to help you down if you need," the ranger said. He didn't seem put off at all by Wren's attitude; instead, he was almost amused. As she lowered herself down, he gave her a wink and a wave.

  Chapter Eleven

  Wren's heart raced as she made her way back to the trail and kept walking along the loop toward the ridgeline. She couldn't even bother pretending that it was the shifter hiding somewhere in the woods that made her pulse pound. Seeing the park ranger's naked body and being drawn into an unexpected kiss had made her nerves jump in a way that was decidedly unhelpful to her mission.

  Her mission. Right. That's what she was worrying about.

  Wren stopped at the top of the ridge line, where the trail opened up into a wide lookout. Here there was no place for a shifter to hide, and she breathed a bit easier as she sat down on a small rock outcropping and gazed out at the view.

  The sun was already high in the sky, and the air was warm. She looked down to where the pines ran up against the coastal cliffs and gave out to the vast blue water. Although white caps of foam edged the tops of the ocean swells, from so far away the waves seemed to move in slow motion and Wren soaked in the calm motion of the distant waves. Over a little farther, up the ridgeline, she could see the fire lookout on top of the mountain, where she was staying.

  What was she doing here? The ranger's kiss had shocked her with its hard, quick intensity, and while she had pulled back immediately, she'd felt her body responding with the most intense kind of desire. It was nothing, of course, just a physical attraction, but—

  But she didn't remember the last time a kiss from Olivier had made her feel like that.

  Wren breathed in deeply. The salty fresh air cleared a bit of the fuzz in her head. This small coastal town was beautiful, sure, but once she was back in the city things would be back to normal.

  She blinked in confusion as a surge of sadness swelled up inside of her chest. Normal. Normal for her was sitting alone at night while Olivier stayed late and worked on Senate committee proposals. Normal for her was a date at a cocktail party spent laughing at the same jokes while he tried to impress the political leaders. And when was the last time they'd made love?

  Tears welled in her eyes and the hard reality of the life she'd chosen choked her at the base of her throat. One of her hands pressed against the space between her breasts, as though she was trying to hold her heart from breaking out of her chest.

  All of the time she'd spent at Washington parties had convinced her that she was somehow lesser. Less beautiful than the other Senate wives. Not as tall, not as skinny. Her sharp wisecracks that made Olivier laugh at home earned her only weak smiles among people who only wanted to talk politics.

  She'd played the part of the dutiful girlfriend, believing that once Olivier was elected, he would be able to relax, that they would be able to open up more with each other. But the election had come and gone, and he was just as distant as ever. The most passionate night they'd had together had been the night of the election. Flushed with victory, he'd taken her to bed and she'd exulted, believing it to be the beginning of their new sexual relationship together.

  Instead, it was the end.

  Wren wiped the back of her hand against her cheek, brushing away the wetness. She'd loved him so much when they first started dating. She loved his ambition, his drive, and she thought that someday that passion would transfer over to their own relationship. But it hadn't, had it? And she'd let the relationship continue, locking her desires away and never admitting that she had anything but respect and admiration for the kind of platonic courtship that Olivier wanted.

  It wasn't until a stranger kissed her that she'd realized how broken her heart really was.

  One. Surroundings. Wren stood up from the rock, aware that she'd been letting her thoughts drift away while ignoring the surroundings. That was dangerous to do, even in an open space. Shaking the thoughts out of her head, she decided that she would call Olivier again. She needed to apologize for hanging up on him. He was legitimately upset—she had, after all, up and left him without a moment's warning. Never mind that he'd done the same thing to her a dozen times before during the election campaign. He must feel hurt, and angry, of course...

  Wren made her way quickly down the other side of the loop. She stopped only once when the path seemed to branch, but one of the trails quickly died out and she backtracked to the other one. Making a mental note to go back and check on the side path later, she hurried back down to the trailhead.

  At the hotel, she put half of the sample of the bear fur into an envelope and mailed it off to the address Marty had texted her for the closest lab. Matt was sitting at the lobby counter reading a fishing magazine when she went down to mail it off.

  “Hey there,” Wren said.

  “Nice hike?” the hotel owner asked.

  “Ah, uh...yeah. I mean, um...” Wren stumbled over the words, thinking about the ranger’s kiss. “Lovely day outside.”
>
  “Always lovely. That’s California.”

  “Right, right. Have you lived here long?”

  “All m’life.” He flipped a magazine page.

  There was something tickling at Wren’s mind, a suspicion she had to put to rest. She’d tracked a bear up to where Dawson was swimming, after all—she needed to know if he was a likely suspect. He didn’t seem like it, but Wren was nothing if not careful.

  “I’d love to live here,” Wren said, “doing a ranger’s job. How much does he work, anyway?”

  “What? Daws? Oh, he never works.”

  “Never?”

  “Mmh, just lopes around picking up sticks and clearing trails.”

  “I mean, I’m curious: do you get any vacation time off when you’re a ranger? Weekends, maybe?”

  Matt closed his magazine and exhaled, evidently resigning himself to answering her questions.

  “Nah, park service’s a long term gig. Seven days a week until forever.”

  “How long term?”

  “Six months on, six months off. You rotate through.”

  “So he works six months out of the year?” Wren did some mental calculations, figuring the last kill on the East Coast. Marty had said there was a murder every two months...

  “Daws? Ha!” Matt snorted, interrupting her thoughts. “You couldn’t pay Daws to leave this mountain. He hasn’t taken a vacation in years. Course he’d tell you he’s on vacation every day.”

  “Right.”

  “Don’t think you’d be able to get a rotation in this park. Daws has it on lock down. You’d have to kill him to get a ranger spot here.”

  Wren chuckled along with Matt.

  “Well, thanks anyway!”

  “Sure thing.” The hotel owner held up a hand in a wave and went back to his magazine as Wren swung the door open to the parking lot.

  So that was that. One suspect down, four hundred and... ten, was it? to go.

  Across the road, she picked up the pay phone and dialed Olivier's number. It rang twice, three times, four times. Wren tapped her foot anxiously, holding her breath. She wanted them to make up, wanted everything to be back to normal. But the phone rang once more and then went to voicemail. She listened to his voice message—thank you for calling senator Olivier Reardon—and then hung up, feeling deflated.