Kodiak Chained

by Doranna Durgin

  Mariska kept her voice even, seeing the diagonal slash across his shoulder blade; it stopped just shy of his spine. Blood still trickled from the lower end, forging a stream down the roll of muscle paralleling his spine, but it was thin and already easing. “I thought that was hard at the best of times.” She couldn’t help it; she put one finger against smooth, warm skin, pressing just enough to shift the lip of the wound so she could see the depth. Not deep. World’s worst paper cut.

  “It is,” Ruger admitted. “We feel it from both directions...the patient, the healer. That’s why it’s always been so important—” He cut off his own words, and she knew it was for her sake—for the sake of peace between them. Why it’s always been so important that I can take care of myself.

  But the silence hung heavily between them after that, and Ruger turned to look at her. “Screw that,” he said. “Not saying the truth just because it’s hard felt as fake as hell, and I’m not doing it again.”

  She bared her teeth at him, and only in retrospect did she realized what she’d expected him to understand. Don’t play nice for me. I can take care of myself, too.

  To judge by his returning grin, he understood it perfectly.

  “Well,” she said, “it’s nearly stopped bleeding anyway. So take your bear already, and let’s get out of this place. The sooner we’re out from under Forakkes’ influence, the sooner we can get help to them.” She couldn’t help a glance at the obscured and twisted exit doorway.

  Ruger stepped back—and back again—as the change bloomed out in billowing clouds of strobing light and energy, easily filling the space between them. Big man. Damned big bear.

  Only then did she realize it was the first she’d seen of his other—the glossy brown pelt, towering size and hunched shoulders of the Kodiak. Alaskan grizzly. No sign of the white V-collar he’d had as a younger man, just breadth and strength and a mighty flap of pelt as he settled into himself.

  She took a single step forward—he’d ended up that close to her—and ran her hand over the short hair at the side of his face, over the side of his sensitive muzzle, meeting warm brown eyes that held the faintest hint of laughter.

  She stepped away, embarrassed to have been so readily entranced, and adjusted the bag over her shoulder. “All right, then,” she said. “Let’s go. Just give me a chance to assess the footing, okay? I’m used to thinking in terms of my bear’s size.”

  He released a huff of amusement, and Mariska turned to the slope of rubble before her and started to climb.

  The footing shifted beneath her, making her glad for the sturdy soles of her light hiking boots—but she didn’t take a single step for granted. Ruger would have no such protection. Only once did she hesitate, looking at the impossibly steep climb, the stretch from the newly formed slope to the rent in the roof and the forest-filtered sunlight beyond.

  She tackled the crumbling slope. In short order she made the transition to all fours—clambering, grabbing handholds, testing them, discarding them...trying again. And then again she found herself climbing.

  At the top she jammed her feet against the thin support of buried metal and slowly stood upright, her heart pounding in her chest. Below, Ruger looked impossibly small. The facility should have stretched out below her; instead it was truncated a third of the way down its length, burying the office section beneath what looked to be an entire tree—half the crown and a jagged section of root. Harrison’s behind that.

  She froze with a sudden light-headedness, vertigo snatching at her sense of self. Bear, she thought with panic. I am solid, strong bear. I am myself, and I am right here.

  Ruger made an encouraging noise; she latched onto the remembered strength of him and found herself.

  After a moment, when she was sure, she fixed her gaze on the tortured remains of the roof for a few deep breaths. “Someone should have said don’t look down.”

  Finally, she dared to reach for the hole, stretching...stretching...

  Too short.

  Ruger made a noise of inquiry from the base of the rubble, concern in the huff-huff-huff that followed.

  “Maybe I need to be bear after all,” Mariska said, and her voice echoed dully into the open space below—although this time she knew better than to look. “I could try changing here—”

  Ruger thought little of that notion, and a snort told her as much. Mariska couldn’t help a wobbly smile, looking down on his massive form—all rippling pelt and muscle and strength. She doubted he realized he’d gone primal with her. No, he’d simply done the natural thing...bear to bear, no matter the form.

  “Well,” she told him, “I’m not going anywhere this way.” She squinted upward, and fought a sudden squall of panic at the impossibility of it. We have to get out of here! We have to stop—

  Ruger interrupted the spiral with a grumble as he headed for the rubble, one ambling step after another, his casual nature belying the care with which he placed those enormous paws.

  “No!” Mariska said, sharply fearful. “What if it doesn’t hold—” She hadn’t expected to still be above him as he climbed, adding instability to the landslide. But he came on, inexorable and huge. Dirt shifted beneath him, sinking where it had held her, sharp objects jutting through.

  “Oh, be careful,” she breathed. And then, louder, “Just wait, I can figure this out. Give me a— Oh!”

  Ruger froze, one paw reaching for security as Mariska’s footing crumbled away. She flung herself up at the hole in the roof with an impossible jump, futilely grasping for handholds in the warped material—finally snagging a slippery root to hang over the edge, unable to gain so much as another inch. Barely able to keep what she had.

  It’s a long way down...

  Ruger coughed a sharp inquiry from below.

  “I’m okay!” she said, and spat dirt from her mouth. “I’m okay!”

  Claws digging deep for traction, Ruger made steady progress below, leaving tumbling dirt and creaking wreckage in his wake. “Careful,” she warned him, but even as she took a renewed grip on her pathetic little root, she felt a nudge on her calf, the brush of his nose along her thigh. Another nudge and she understood it was more than just a reassurance—it was suggestion.

  “You’re kidding,” she said, not about to let go of the root.

  ::I’m not,:: he told her, from deep within the bear. ::Slide down. I’ve got you.::

  She cursed, a heartfelt thing, and eased down—straightening her arms to the fullest and letting her knees rest on his shoulders. ::Hold on,:: he said, as her hands sank into the pelt of his neck.

  She did just that, clutching fur, knees riding behind his shoulders. He tested his footing and heaved beneath her, rising along the slide until he’d regained the ground she’d lost, an absurdly large creature perching at an equally absurd height and using every muscle in his body to stay that way. He looked up at the ragged exit.

  “Okay,” she said, not nearly as certain as she sounded, but understanding well enough. From here, if she stood...she’d be just tall enough.

  She thought.

  She pulled the gear bag off over her head, steadied herself, and tossed it out through the hole, waiting for the satisfying thump of its landing. “You ready?”

  He made a sound of assent, far too casual; she knew better than to believe it, and she knew that no matter how carefully she wanted to do this insane thing, the longer she took, the harder it would be on him.

  She didn’t let herself think too hard. She put her feet under her, found a hint of stability between his shoulder blades, and stood, swiftly reaching out to latch her gloved hands on the twisted structural beam at the edge of the hole. Ruger moved beneath her, surging in perfect synchrony with her push-off—sending her up with a power she hadn’t expected. She cleared the hole with an elbow, bent metal tearing at her shirt—at her slacks as she once more slung one leg over the edge.

  Below her, Ruger scrabbled to regain the stability he’d lost with that extra boost, and an instant of frustrated temper s
hoved out her fear—shoving out her awareness of the ground so far below her. She rode that fury right out through the hole, pulling herself onto the roof with determination more than grace, rolling instantly away from the edge.

  ::Mari?::

  ::I’m good!::

  But there was no way he was getting through that hole. Not as bear, not as man. ::Mari?::

  The question had a different feel this time—an urgency that reminded her he was still in the dark, while she had the perfect view of the area around the installation.

  It took only an instant to absorb the first impact of the scene; she offered him visuals, pulling back slightly when he responded with a startled grunt, a sudden, audible lurch on his precarious perch.

  Fallen and splintered trees from the ridge above, now resting in the hollow that held the installation; raw gouges dotting the earth around her... The ridge itself had crumpled overtop the installation’s entrance—there’d be no approaching Ian and Sandy from that end. And here, she lay sprawled over a ruptured roof that probably wasn’t anywhere near strong enough to hold her anymore.

  She pulled back the visuals and scooted down the arch of the exposed roof on her bottom—and then, once she was well below the level of the hole and back on thick soil, she reached for her bear. It swelled up within her, strength and fiercely protective; she closed her eyes on the surging swirl of light and energy and expanded into herself. Sharp scents of rent pine and disturbed soil, the breeze against her fur, the cool ground against her pads.

  The destruction looked no less impressive from her bear’s eyes. She tread cautiously on the roof to reach the hole, hooking out splayed claws to catch metal and peel it away from the structural beam she’d found so useful, enlarging the hole in all directions. Within moments she peered down at Ruger—found him panting and perched at the apex of the landslide. The moment he spotted her, he collected himself, balancing, muscles bunching—leaping.

  Mariska jerked back in surprise, unable to fathom how he could—how over a thousand pounds of Kodiak could—

  The change bloomed around him, sparking color and light and motion; he thrust upward with the power of his bear and left the bear behind. The hands slapping into place on the beam belonged to Ruger the man. He jerked himself up, gaining an elbow over the beam; he hooked a leg over it. “Mari—” he said, a gasp behind it as the damaged beam creaked beneath his weight—and beneath her weight, all black bear as it was.

  She understood with abrupt dread—rolling away to take back the human, and just as quickly scrambling back up again. She threw herself half over the edge, her hand closing around his belt at the hip—hauling upward with enough force to drive a grunt from her lungs—inching back as he gained a better hold, grabbing at his calf to tug him toward safety. Grabbing at anything she could reach, never mind how intimate the touch, until he finally slid back onto the roofing, his harsh breath matching hers.

  The metal creaked as the beam buckled slightly; Mariska abandoned dignity and scuttled away, down to where the building disappeared fully into the ground. Ruger did the same, launching away to land beside her.

  Together they rose just enough to watch the roof section fall away in a rending clash of metals and a dull thud against the dirt below.

  Mariska released a breath vigorous enough to stir her bangs, sat back on her heels, and glared over at Ruger. At the chances he’d taken to get them out of there, at his refusal to let her make the choices that would keep him as safe as they kept her. At his sliced back, on which he’d allowed her to clamber; at the toll taken on his body because he’d given so much to the effort of getting her out of that hole. “Dammit,” she said, and hit him without pulling that punch in the least. “You make me so mad!”

  * * *

  Ruger’s arm still stung. His back stung, a surface wound with the annoying sting of a giant paper cut. Mariska pulled his shirt from the bag and took his shoulder, turning him without so much as a by-your-leave.

  Ruger growled low in his chest.

  Mariska growled right back and dabbed the shirt against his back, slowly growing bold enough to take long swipes across his skin.

  He had it in mind to turn on her and grab the shirt and stalk off; fussing at the wound wouldn’t improve the situation one bit. But then he felt the tremble behind her touch, and then he let himself linger on how she’d thrown her bear on top of the unstable roof to enlarge the hole, and the impeccable timing of her change back to human so she could help haul him up.

  He subsided—unsettled, wary, and standing braced with his head bowed while he listened to the woods around them. The scents of destruction raked his nose and sinuses with each breath, overlaid with the lingering skunk—but his ears...they could still assess the area.

  Creaking, settling wood; shifting leaves. The birds shocked to silence; the small animals already fled. The rising breeze against his back, the sullen heat of a building monsoon storm against his skin.

  Mariska’s touch grew less brusque. She hesitated, fingers tightly tracing alongside the slash of the wound—telling him, for the first time, just how long it ran. “It’s stopping,” she said. “But it won’t heal well if you keep moving.”

  He looked over his shoulder with wry amusement. “I’ve lost my healer’s connection,” he said. “I haven’t forgotten everything I ever learned.”

  She made a face at him and tossed him the lightly stained shirt; he shook it out and shrugged into it, not bothering with the buttons.

  Mariska looked at him with an unexpected wistfulness—but she shook it off quickly enough, lifting her head to look up the ridge. He didn’t have to read her mind to know her thoughts. Find Forakkes. Reach brevis. Get HELP.

  ::Ian?:: he said, waiting only for the sense of the man’s attention before raising his voice. ::Sandy?::

  Mariska caught his eye and shook her head; there was no sense of either. Ruger kept his thoughts loud and clear anyway. ::We’re out. We’re going to find Forakkes. If we can break through the blackout zone, we’ll get someone up here to pull you out.::

  ::Good hunting,:: Harrison said, the mind-voice of a man who held no illusions. ::If I manage to crawl my way out of here, I’ll head for the ATVs—back to Maks’ place. We can get a call out.::

  Mariska caught Ruger’s arm, her eye bright with question. Maks.

  He shook his head. “I doubt the ATVs are still there.”

  “Still, if one of us went that direction, we might get out from under the blackout—”

  “No,” Ruger said sharply, and then made himself stop, scrubbing hands over his face with the impossibility of it all. He found her watching him with a stubborn reserve—her shoulders stiff, her arms crossed, her legs braced. He sighed. “I mean, I know. It could happen. But it’s not worth the risk of splitting us up, not when we might walk out from under the blackout in this direction, too. Especially not when Forakkes knows exactly where Maks is.”

  Her arms dropped to her sides. “You think he’ll have Maks blocked, too.”

  “I think we have to assume that if he launched an attack of this magnitude, he prepared for it. He’s our enemy and he’s every single thing we stand against—but he’s not stupid.”

  “No,” she murmured. “He’s not stupid. I’m not sure I think he’s sane, though.” She shook her head. “Grenades in the national forest—! Surely not even the Core would welcome what he’s done here, no matter the carrot he’s got to dangle.”

  “I wouldn’t care to predict what they’re willing to accept if it means gaining any sort of control over us.” Ruger lingered a final moment to hunt for signs of awareness from Ian and Sandy. Even now, if he could sense their needs, he could prepare brevis to deal with them—

  “Stop it!” Mariska shouted at him—startling him with her closeness. “What is wrong with you?”

  He stared at her, something close to dumbfounded, and she swiped her fingers over his bare upper lip, holding them up for his inspection. Red and gleaming.

  He met her eyes, dark
brown and glittering with anger, and had nothing to say. Mariska Bear, protecting him from himself, no matter how it frustrated him—flushed and mussed and beautiful. Being who she was.

  He closed his hands over her shoulders—not gently, either—and pulled her in to cover her mouth with his, a punishing kiss that caught her up with a startled and then fervent response. He kissed her fierce and hard and not possibly long enough, and he broke away just as suddenly. “Mari Bear,” he growled at her, and left her standing there in the shock of it as he headed for the ridge.

  Her emotions simmered after him—frustration, fury, desire. He tore himself away from it, forcing focus—forcing himself to deal with their circumstances. Survival.

  Not just for their team, but for the Sentinels as a whole.

  When she caught up to him at the crest, the gear bag once again slung over her neck and shoulder, she’d composed herself; he felt only her lingering impulse to launch herself at him, and couldn’t tell if it was from the fury or the desire.

  Or both.

  But outwardly, she’d regained composure. She joined him, standing beside the crater of a recently upturned ponderosa to look over the changed landscape. “Everywhere they go,” she said, mourning in her voice, “they destroy. The earth, its people...us.”

  “Forakkes is rogue,” he reminded her, though the words felt token. “Not technically acting on behalf of the Core.”

  She snorted. “Do you really think they didn’t know they were losing control of him? They could have stopped this—they just want it both ways. If he fails, they’ll take him out as proof of their goodwill—and if he succeeds, they’ll disavow him and use his work.”

  “Then we’ll make sure he fails.” Even as he said it, Ruger felt the absurdity of the words—standing half-naked and exposed at the top of the ridge, his team buried behind him, his backup out of reach. Standing beside a bodyguard with an amulet loose in her system, the smooth browns of her complexion still carrying that high flush, the corners of her eyes and tension in her brow still carrying signs of pain.

  Mariska looked down on the destruction below and around them and scowled. “We’ll make damned sure he fails.”