by T. S. Joyce
I looked up at Lucianna who stood pale and wide-eyed on the porch. Her forest colored gaze never left the boy with his dark hair that fell forward in his eyes.
“Luc,” I said, but she already knew the question.
Her eyes filled with unshed tears, and I could almost see the ghost of her brother behind them. Quietly, she said, “I want him.”
The man’s dark eyes swam with emotion as he lowered the crying boy from the back of his horse with a strong arm. “Oupita made sure he has English in case he ever made his way back to you. His name is Ukiah. Don’t let him lose his Ute.” With that, the dark-headed man pulled his horse slowly toward the woods. He looked back twice but said nothing before he disappeared.
Ukiah stood as still as a tree until the only father he’d known was gone.
He turned with such a fierce look of anger in his dove gray eyes. He ran at me and pounded against my stomach with his furious little fists. I let him until he tired, then I bent down and hugged him to me so tightly, he had no other choice but wrap his arms around my neck and cry against me.
My son. I never thought I’d hold him, or even know his name. He’d been through so much. He’d go through so much more in the coming years. Had his people even told him about the animal growing inside?
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
The admission was another hurt banished forever from its ability to overshadow my family. Ukiah, my son.
Lucianna rubbed his back and mine with her soft hands, and leaned her face against my shoulder as quiet sobs wracked her body.
Jeremiah and Luke stood beside their wives in the quite of the clearing, watching as our pack grew by one.
My family was whole.
Epilogue
Lucianna
“Kavah,” I said.
“No,” Ukiah said with a smile and a shake of the head. “Say vah, louder.”
“Kavah.”
“Good. Horse,” he said. The boy had grown in the last year. His height promised he’d be every bit as tall as his father, but his tender age kept him thin as a whip no matter how much we fed him. He held a long stick and raked it over the tall grass that waved between the trees. He pointed the stick at the sun. “Now say, tahvuhch.”
I repeated it and he nodded. He and Gable spoke the Ute language freely, and if I was ever going to escape teasing in a tongue I didn’t understand, I was going to have to learn it to better hold my own.
I crouched and plucked a tender wild onion from the earth, then set it in the basket I carried at my hip. His hair was getting longer and now brushed his collar bones. Someday it would be long enough to braid, like his mother’s people. He wore a cotton shirt like Gable’s, but the breechcloth and leggings were a nod to the heritage we were determined to hold onto.
He would leave with Gable soon to visit the reservation, and for a week he’d stay with Tauri and Kicking Bull. He’d visit with the people he knew and the father he’d grown up with. Gable hadn’t ever felt right about cutting off Ukiah’s ties with his mother’s people, so he didn’t. There was importance in knowing where he came from. Gable was determined his son would never lose the balance between the animal inside and the man he would become, like he had done. When they left for the week, I would miss them terribly.
Ukiah twitched his neck to the side and waited. The scents that caressed the wind told him a hundred things and the sounds of the breeze told him a hundred more that I was helpless to experience. A slow smile spread across his face and he looked up with curious gray eyes into the canopy above. “I see you.”
Gable sat perched on a low-hanging branch. “Good,” he said. Pride filled every inch of his expression and he leapt down in a move so graceful, there was barely any impact as he hit the soft grass below. He ruffled his son’s hair and hugged him into his side. “Lorelei says dinner’s on.”
Ukiah didn’t have to be told twice. He ran through the woods in the direction of the big house, and a warm meal, without another word. I laughed and shook my head. Typical werewolf.
Gable watched him steadily until he was gone, and then his dancing eyes landed on me. “Not so fast.” He brushed a finger against my waist to stop my advance toward home. He leaned down and kissed me with the lightest brush of his lips. My favorite kiss.
With his forehead against mine he held out his hand. In his palm sat a simple, thin gold ring. “I told you once it didn’t matter if we were married. I swore to you I’d never ask. I lied. I want you to share my last name, Lucianna. I want you to share the last name of our son and I want you to be mine in every way possible.” His nose flared and he swallowed hard. “Will you marry me?”
I dragged it out. He seemed so nervous, as if he thought I’d actually say no to his proposal. It was a delicious feeling that a man so strong, so powerful and tender in turn, could be afraid of a word from my lips. The ring sat in his outstretched palm against the cotton of my dress, and finally I said, “Lucianna Dawson has a ring to it, don’t you think?”
He exhaled like he’d been holding his breath and chuckled. Gathering me close, he said, “That’s the best sounding two words I’ve ever heard in my life. Is that a yes?”
I nodded and he squeezed me so tightly, I thought he’d bust the laces of my dress. I giggled at the rasp of his cheek against mine as he slid the ring onto my finger.
My limp hindered us from going as fast as Gable wanted, so he flung me over his shoulder and walked with long strides into the clearing. I lifted slightly and glared suspiciously at the back of his head. “Is this about Luke?”
“Mm hmm.”
“He bet you I’d say no?”
“Mm hmm.”
“What did he lose?”
Ignoring my question, he called across the clearing. “She said yes!”
Luke and Jeremiah stood on the corral gates talking, but his green-eyed brother turned with a frown. “Dammit,” he yelled, throwing his hat into the dirt. He stalked off into the barn while Gable and Jeremiah echoed booming laughter through the clearing.
Ukiah sat on Kristina’s front porch, devouring a plate of beefsteak and beans while Lorelei and Kristina sat in the rocking chairs behind him, cooing at Jeremiah’s baby boy.
Kristina rolled her eyes and shook her head. “I told him it was a stupid bet. I knew you were destined to be a Dawson bride the minute I saw you.”
Gable set me down but left his arm around my waist. The ring on my finger had weight and merit. It meant more to me than I’d wanted to admit. I didn’t want a man to control me, but Gable never tried to. He walked beside me, not in front of me. He grinned happily down at me and brushed a strand of loose hair out of my face.
This man was my match in every way. Oh, I missed the city from time to time with all of its conveniences and social opportunities. But then I’d think of how lonely I’d been. Of how I’d been a pretty ornament with an attractive dowry with no real purpose. I looked around at my family and was filled with such joy. Here, in this tiny town, in this simple existence, I’d found my place amongst people I loved who loved me back. I was important to them. I could see it in their happy eyes as they congratulated us.
We women who were strong enough, and brave enough to love these Dawson men fought to get where we were. Our struggles made the good in this life more potent somehow. They made our bond impenetrable and our importance to each other undeniable.
I was a Dawson long before the ring that glinted against the fair skin of my finger, but the acceptance of Gable’s name as my own meant even more. I drank in the overwhelming elation on my mate’s face.
He wasn’t The Gable any longer.
He was My Gable.
Acknowledgements
This series is for you, reader. You don’t even realize how much you inspire me. Every book I write is with you in mind. Your reviews, comments and messages on the website shape the adventures I write. I listen to you because you are the reason I get to tell stories. I am, and always will be, your biggest fan.
If you are
reading this, it means you went on the entire three book adventure with me through the Wild West with this pack of testy, imperfect werewolves, and the women strong enough to love them. You let these characters into your imaginations, and for that, I’m truly thankful.
You. Are. Awesome.
-T.
Questions or comments about this series? Leave them here. I’d love to hear from you.
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Other Books by T. S. Joyce
Wolf Brides Series
Wolf Bride (Book 1)
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Red Snow Bride (Book 2)
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Bear Shifter Romance Series
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Bear Valley Shifters - Complete Series - Available Now
The Witness and the Bear (Book 1)
Devoted to the Bear (Book 2)
Return to the Bear (Book 3)
Betray the Bear (Book 4)
Redeem the Bear (Book 5)
Hells Canyon Shifters
Call of the Bear (Book 1)
Fealty of the Bear (Book 2)
Avenge the Bear (Book 3)
Sneak Peek
THE WITNESS AND THE BEAR
(Bear Valley Shifters, Book 1)
Read on for a sneak peek of the thrilling first book in the bestselling Bear Valley Shifters series.
Chapter One
Today was as good a day to die as any.
Jimmy’s fingers dug into her shoulder as he shoved her out the window. “Hannah! Stop fighting me. If you don’t run now, it’ll be too late.”
Another tremendous crash rattled the room. Stone’s men were coming in sooner than later and the men protecting her were sitting ducks to the hell on the other side of that door. Jeremy watched her with an eerie glow to his dark eyes. Fluorescent lights and dingy walls had that effect on him. Braced against the door, he snarled, “Get out of here!”
“And what about you?” she snapped, lunging for the window and gripping the edges with straining fingers. “Huh? They’ll kill you! There is no end to their reach. They’ll keep coming until I’m dead and I’m tired of running. Just let them have me.”
Defeated. After the last time they’d found her, she’d skimmed the insanity train. Paranoia ruled her life. And not the I-smoked-a-joint-and-now-the-government-is-after-me kind. This fear didn’t end with the high. It stretched on and on until she would drown in it. Burn in it. Fall into the darkness wider than the known world and tumble forever, hitting every rock crevice on the way down until her mind was shredded. She was so damned tired of it.
“I’ll never forgive you,” Jeremy said. His cold eyes threw ice that pierced her heart. Gray hair cropped short, wrinkles that textured his face, and most of them were probably from trying to keep her safe for the past year. Witness protection gone horribly wrong. He’d given too much for her to give up now. He knew it, and begrudgingly, she knew it too.
“Jimmy,” she breathed, tears burning her eyes.
His grip on her shirt tightened and he shook his head, slow. Bright blue eyes filled with sadness so deep, she didn’t know how he could draw a breath. Jimmy and Jeremy wouldn’t come with her this time. Their last stand would be here, in this filthy apartment in Ashland, Oregon.
Crash. Plaster spewed from the walls and ceiling and Jimmy shoved her out onto the fire escape. “Climb down and run. Don’t stop until you know they aren’t following. Take this.” He shoved a Glock into the palm of her hand, the metal cold against the perspiration of fear. “Shoot ‘em if you’re cornered.”
Jeremy flew backward with the force of the next blow and Jimmy shoved her in the back. She fell forward, catching the grate with her knees and crying out at the sudden pain. Gunfire peppered the tiny space and she tumbled down the stairs, caught herself on the railing at the bottom and shot one last look to the window, then pounded the pavement with the soles of her sneakers.
Jeremy who’d given up his life as a civilian to protect her. Jeremy, who’d calmed her fears when Stone’s men got too close. Jeremy, who’d become more like father figure than friend. He was trapped in the middle of the rattling explosions.
A sob wrenched from her throat. The last good parts of her would die with him. His death was on her. She’d made the choice to testify against Stone and his men, and that decision had caused an earthquake that rippled through her life and killed people she cared about. If she lived a minute or a decade, she’d never curse another person with her love.
A hand reached out from the darkness and wrapped around her throat like a manacle. She tried to scream but her wind wouldn’t come through his crushing grasp and as the man emerged from the shadows, the flickering street light illuminated a long scar across his forehead.
Spinning, he slammed her against a brick wall hard enough to rattle her skull and blur her vision. Sparks whipped this way and that through the edges of her vision and warmth trickled down her neck. Yanking her long, honey colored hair out of the way, the man grunted a satisfied noise and the crack of metal on metal was deafening as he cocked his gun.
Definitely one of Stone’s enforcers. No one else would be interested in the scar that marked her.
Gravel met the flesh of her cheek as he slammed her to the ground, and when his weight disappeared, she rolled over. No way was she going to die with a bullet in her back. The least this asshole could do was look in her eyes when he pulled that trigger. Gunfire had tapered off from above, and the apartment behind his shoulder had gone dark. Her breath trembled, filling the night air with the traitorous proof of her fear. Heart hammering against her sternum, she glared at the sneering man.
“Go to hell,” he said, lifting the barrel.
“You first,” she snarled, pulling the trigger on the Glock Jimmy had gifted her.
His gun discharged at the exact same moment as hers, and pain ripped through her, shredding her insides until there was nothing left. The man sank to his knees with a shocked look as his unloaded weapon clattered to the cracked pavement. She struggled to breathe as he brought searching fingertips to his chest and pulled them back crimson.
The last thing she’d do on this earth was rid it of an evil man. Pride surged through her as he fell forward. Her hand lay limp in front of her, smattered with blood. It felt detached from her body. Everything did. Nothing worked except her lungs, dragging air in, and pushing it out, and even that small movement was failing.
The man’s eyes dimmed until the dark orbs saw nothing at all. Her lungs rattled with every breath, but she smiled despite the pain. Stone won the war, but at least she’d go out on this tiny victory.
Her vision shattered inward and she winced at the blinding pain.
Nearby, an animal roared loud enough to rattle her bones.
If it was her death the creature sought, he was too late.
She was already gone.
THE WITNESS AND THE BEAR
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About the Author
T. S. Joyce
T.S. Joyce is devoted to bringing hot shifter romances to readers. Hungry alpha males are her calling card, and the wilder the men, the more she'll make them pour their hearts out. Experienced at handling an alpha male of her own, she lives in a tiny town, outside of a tiny city, and devotes her life to writing big stories. Foodie, bear whisperer, ninja, thief of tiny bottles of awesome smelling hotel shampoo, nap connoisseur, movie fanatic, and zombie slayer, and most of this bio is true.
Bear Shifters? Check
Smoldering Alpha Hotness? Double Check
Sexy Scenes? Fasten up your girdles, ladies and gents, it's gonna to be a wild ride.
For more information about T. S. Joyce and her work, visit her website here.
Contents
Other Books in This Series
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
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
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Other Books by T. S. Joyce
Bear Shifter Romance Series
Hells Canyon Shifters
Sneak Peek
About the Author