Shrew & Company Books 1-3

by Holley Trent

  “But they know you’re here now just like you know they’re here.”

  He shook his head and eased his left arm onto the back of the seat behind her. “You ever notice the difference between my scent or Chauncey’s scent versus Gene’s?”

  Chauncey was a teenaged orphan Were-bear who’d suffered abuse under Gene’s “care” for a number of years before he ran. The Shrews had intercepted him, and he now lived with Sarah’s parents out on the coast.

  Tamara shrugged. “I suppose, but I chalked the differences up to you being separate individuals.”

  “Well, we all have our signature scents…”

  As if she could ignore such a thing. Bryan’s scent reminded her of brisk streams and mossy woods, with an undercurrent of ripe berries. Earthy. So sensual that sitting in such close proximity to him spurred on her overwhelming desire to put her face against the bend of his neck and hold it there.

  The waitress returned just long enough to deposit a cup of coffee in front of Tamara. “Look like you need that, hon,” she said, and walked away without waiting for a refusal.

  Bryan set his right elbow on the tabletop and propped the side of his face against his fist, watching Tamara while she sipped.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Are you cold?”

  She bobbed her shoulders, and drew a longer stream of the hot, rich roast into her mouth. The coffee was a bit bitter from sitting on the burner too long, but its warmth seemed to touch some hard-to-reach corners inside of her that begged for warmth. Closing her eyes, she moaned as the liquid made its way down. “A bit, yes. Not as cold as before.”

  “Let me know if that changes. Anyhow, like I was saying, Bears like me, Drea, and Chauncey have smells that aren’t particularly detectible by other animals unless they’re already familiar with us. Our scents blend in with those of the earth. Made-Bears have different blood composition.”

  “That’s why they smell metallic,” Tamara mused. “Huh. I always assumed it was their hair, like wet dog or something.”

  Bryan grunted. “The fact you can differentiate it at all is amazing, because most humans wouldn’t register all the notes of either scent.”

  “I am a Shrew.”

  “Any other neat tricks you want to tell me about?”

  Tamara cut her gaze over to him and found his eyes held a mischievous twinkle, and the right corner of his lips was quirked up. Damned sexy. She looked away, but not before rolling her eyes at him.

  She’d never had a type. She liked men in general. Broad ones. Lean ones. Dark ones. Fair ones. But, thinking back on her litany of partners in the past, none of them seemed to measure up to this smirking asshole at her right. Even through all their petty squabbling and bickering, she’d come to know Bryan as a man of his word, and a generally honorable one. He wouldn’t allow any harm come to her as a result of his endeavors, and though he might bruise her ego on occasion, it wasn’t intentional. He was a boor of a Bear, and probably couldn’t help it, any more than she could help her sharp tongue and tendency to scream when a whisper would do.

  He’d make a good friend, once she got that drive to climb him like a banana tree and hump him out of her system.

  She cleared her throat and set down her coffee mug. “I think you’ve seen all the major ones.”

  “I could have sworn I heard the crack when you struck Dustin’s nose. Just how strong are you?”

  She’d figured that would come up sooner or later.

  She shrugged. “Haven’t clinically measured that in a while. I’m sure it’s on Doc’s to-do list for my next physical.”

  “Maybe you can get that done while she’s looking you over to find out why you’ve apparently caught the plague.”

  She pushed a scoff through her lips, and she pushed her mug away as the waitress returned with their platters. Bryan put in a takeout order for Dustin before she left, and Tamara smiled. He may have been gruff, but at least he wasn’t cruel.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Bryan counted out bills from his wallet and laid them atop the check, watching the two strange Bears chatting up the hostess at the podium.

  From this angle, he could see them and they could see him. Even if they didn’t recognize him, the chances of them remembering his face later should Gene or one of his flunkies ask if they’d encountered Bryan was very high. He just had one of those looks that was easy to remember. There weren’t so many Native American men in western North Carolina that people would forget one of his size, especially one with a very remarkable blonde at his side. He didn’t particularly want Gene catching wind about there being a woman in his entourage. He’d try to make her his next target, and no one wanted that, not even Gene. He just didn’t know it.

  Briefly, Bryan thought of Drea, and wondered again if she were safe. His parents hadn’t sent him any concerned text messages, so she had to be safe enough for the time being. He couldn’t let thoughts of his sister distract him, though. What he was trying to do would be for the greater good of all his kin. Drea knew he always had a plan. She just needed to stick it out.

  As if she were reading his mind, Tamara leaned in close as a lover, grazing her breasts across his left arm as she stretched toward his ear. She put her lips against it, and her hot breath against his lobe made his nuts tighten.

  He grabbed her wrist beneath the table as she asked, “What is your plan? I take it you’re not going to let them drive off this property.”

  He loosened his grip, snaked his arm around her waist, and pulled her halfway onto his lap. If they were going to play besotted lovers, he’d do his part.

  Shit, she’s cold.

  He chafed her back, rubbing his hand over the so-called glory hole in her jacket. “Actually, I am going to let them drive off the property.”

  “Oh?”

  “Neater that way. We’ll follow them, see which way they go. If we can get them close to the bunker, so much the better. Be easier to hide their vehicle that way.”

  “How are you going to get them to stop?”

  “Don’t know.” He resumed his rubbing, lower this time, and concentrated on unfurling the tight knot at the base of her spine.

  “Leave it to me,” she said. “If I jump out of a moving vehicle, I won’t be harmed other than ripping some new holes in my clothes.”

  “Like here?”

  How his hand ended up on her ass, he had no clue, though he suspected a certain trickster bear had something to do with it. The squeeze, though…that was all him. If she were going to knee him in the nuts, he wanted to give her a good reason for it.

  Her breath hitched, but there was no immediate blow to his jewels, though she did arch her back a bit. “You wish,” she said, and she eased across his lap into the aisle, jostling his overenthusiastic cock head in the process.

  “Give me two minutes, and we can slip out the back door.” She pushed the ladies room door in, and let it close behind her.

  Two minutes. Two minutes to kill an erection before he had to get up and do badass, kick-ass shit.

  He closed his eyes and groaned.

  ___

  They followed the stranger Bears out of the parking lot, and Bryan kept about ten car-lengths of distance between his truck and their sedan, sometimes more. He didn’t want to be noticeable until he had to be. Luckily, they were driving toward Asheville and in the general direction of the Ridge bunker. If they got close to the side road’s outlet, he’d have to get in front of them…and that’s where the plan would fall apart.

  If push came to shove, they’d be fighting one-on-one, and neither of those men was particularly small. They weren’t tall, like him, but they had girth. They’d probably gotten it from eating at greasy dives like the one they’d all just left.

  “What kind of weapons are you carrying today?” Bryan asked the subdued Shrew.

  “I’ve got a silver knife in my boot.”

  “That’s it? No guns?”

  Not that he was particularly enamored of the idea of her using
a firearm anywhere near his vicinity, but he still didn’t trust that she was bodily capable of subduing a man twice her weight and several inches taller. Supernatural strength or not, she couldn’t defy the laws of physics.

  Could she?

  “My guns are back in my duffel. I only carry them about half the time. I certainly don’t sleep with one on the nightstand like Sarah does, and definitely not under my pillow like Dana.”

  “Are you saying they’re paranoid?”

  “No, not at all. They are very quick with weapons. You can’t even see them draw. I’m fast, but not faster-than-light fast. I didn’t get that particular mutation, I suppose.”

  “So, they rely on guns. And you?”

  “My body. Feet. Fists. Head, of course. My opponents tend to want to grab me by the waist to subdue me.”

  “That’s their first mistake.”

  “Exactly. Generally, if I move methodically, I can turn my opponent into a weapon. Tangle them up in their own clumsy movements, and just give them a little push when they need help falling.”

  Her voice had gone so flat toward the end of that explanation that he stole a glance away from the road to look at her. There was no emotion to be read on her face. She looked neither thrilled at the prospect of hand-to-hand combat nor anxious of it. If anything, she just looked tired.

  He was going to ask if she were up to a physical altercation in her current state, but before he could get the words out, he spied the sedan ahead flashing its right blinkers.

  The wrong way.

  There were only a couple of country blocks between them and the turn-off, so Bryan pressed harder on the accelerator and said, while stabbing his seatbelt release, “Get ready.”

  “Mm-hmm.” The click at his right indicated she had released her belt as well.

  He pushed his old truck to its limit, and the engine clattered and groaned at the increasing stress as he overtook the sedan, just before they were due to turn.

  The driver of the sedan slammed on brakes, as did Bryan, and he immediately threw the truck into reverse.

  Tamara had her door open and was halfway out of the truck even before it came to a stop.

  By the time he could pull his parking brake, she was already at the sedan’s driver’s side and had the door open, shouting, “Keep your fucking hands where I can see them and get out of the car.”

  Neither man moved beyond turning their heads to observe Bryan’s approach with bundles of rope.

  “Get out of the car,” Tamara repeated. “Do not make me pull you out.”

  “Just tell me what you want,” the man in the passenger seat said. “Is it the drugs? The money? Take it. Tony, open the trunk.”

  She reached in and smacked Tony’s roaming hand. “Get out of the car now. Cooperate, and you won’t get hurt.”

  Tony snickered, his face florid with amusement. He shot a look to his passenger that Bryan didn’t like.

  Mind yourself, Tam.

  “All right, all right,” Tony said. He put his hands up, palms toward the dashboard, and tipped his large body out of the car door.

  “You get out, too, bud,” she said to the passenger.

  “Okay…”

  Bryan was there at the passenger side as the man opened his door. The man’s expression was far too placid. If it had been Bryan in the middle of a carjacking, he wouldn’t be smirking and joking with his would-be captors. He’d be fighting.

  And then he smelled it. Metallic blood and sweaty flesh that burned hot.

  Bryan took one large step back and shouted at Tamara who was already, thankfully, in a fighting stance, “The idiots are forcing a shift.”

  Confusion shaded the passenger’s black eyes as his pale skin gave way to thick black fur, and his form grew to twice his man size. No true black bear could grow that large, so if anyone had seen a shifter Bear running around, widespread panic would come soon after.

  Vaguely, Bryan registered Tony in his periphery doing the same: forcing a shift that at the end of this fight would render him a sitting duck. The Bears were hoping they’d be the victors, and that they’d the first to rise.

  They didn’t know whom they were dealing with.

  Tamara murmured something in Romanian or German or one of those guttural languages she spoke, and bent, likely to her boot although Bryan couldn’t see.

  One thing at a time. He needed to deal with the writhing bear in front of him first before he could deal with Tamara’s. How could a prince slay the princess’s dragon when he had one breathing down his neck, too?

  “Big mistake,” was the last thing Bryan could growl out before his throat was no longer capable of human speech, and his thoughts shifted from calculation, to instinct.

  With one last glance at Tamara, who was a blur of swinging fists and sweeping legs, he turned his attention to the smaller Bear in front of him.

  He couldn’t be sure without the guideposts of a human face, but he could have sworn the Bear flinched.

  They always did that when they realized their mistake.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “Stop licking me. I’m fine. That’s not my blood.”

  Tamara tried to shoo the big bear away, and the resulting protest came in the form of a half-hearted growl.

  “Are you stuck like that?” she asked him, wiping her sticky hands on her now-tattered jeans and stepping over the hog-tied Tony. She gave his ribs a little kick, and in his semi-conscious state, he groaned.

  Bryan swung his large black head side to side.

  “Thank God for small favors.”

  It was a wonder no vehicles had passed during the brief conflict. Over in less than five minutes, it had to have been one of the less interesting fights she’d gotten into in recent memory. She certainly wouldn’t bother telling the Shrews about it. Their eyes would glaze over, and they’d probably slip away, making excuses they needed to use the restroom or grab a snack for their nonexistent hypoglycemia.

  The big bear lumbered past her to the back of his truck, and she followed. He nudged the tailgate with his wet black nose, and Tamara used her dexterous human fingers to pull it open.

  He bobbed his head toward the waterproof bag tied to his utility box, and she climbed into the bed to get it. He grabbed it between his teeth, as gingerly as a bear could, and began to saunter toward the woods.

  “Where are you going?” she asked.

  He turned to look at her and cocked his big head to the side a bit. A low rumble escaped his throat.

  She didn’t speak bear, but she knew duh when she saw it.

  Rolling her eyes, she crooked her thumb toward the bound Bear shifters on the ground. “Stay close. One of them might wake.”

  And if they did, she didn’t have the energy left to fight them. She didn’t want to admit that, though.

  Bryan-bear did something resembling a shrug, and then dropped the bag from his mouth as he sat back on his haunches. He then pushed himself up on two legs, his body slimming, his fur rippling as Bryan drew the beast back in.

  She watched in thrall as bones shifted and mended, skin shrank, and fur receded, giving way to his usual caramel skin and tidy haircut.

  “Fuck,” he moaned, laying his head left, and right, and making the cartilage in his neck pop. “Hate doing that outside the full moon.”

  “Mm-hmm,” she said, not really listening.

  Who the hell could listen? The man was naked as a jaybird and hung. Watching his thick, flaccid cock sway as he walked rendered her temporarily deaf and dumb.

  He knelt low and pulled open the bag’s drawstring, watching her watch him.

  He grinned. “I offered to use the woods. Did you forget I was naked under the fur?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  At that he laughed, and stepped into a pair of boxer briefs. “Hate that I shredded those jeans. Cost me ninety bucks.”

  Seeing one of the supine Bears stirring, she swam up out of her semi-paralyzed state and returned her silver knife to her boot. “That’s exactly why I onl
y buy jeans when they go on clearance. When I’m not having Bears glory-hole me, I’m in knife fights, or doing tuck-and-rolls out of cars.”

  “Smart lady.”

  “Blonde and smart are not mutually exclusive.”

  “Simmer down, sweetheart. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

  “Fine. Let’s just get these two to the bunker before one wakes up.”

  “Baby, even if they did wake up, they wouldn’t have enough juice to run. There’s a reason most Bears don’t shift outside of the full moon. Doing it then is easy—it’s like the moon pulling tides. You couldn’t stop it if you wanted to, but if you try to do something that’s against your nature, you suffer for it.” He zipped his jeans over that impressive bulge and knelt over his bag again, this time drawing out a shirt.

  “You don’t seem affected.”

  Hell, she probably was worse for the wear than he was at that moment. She felt absolutely chewed up.

  “Yet another benefit of being the real deal.” He smoothed his shirt over his waist and flicked his deflated bag into the truck bed. “Shifting feels like what I imagine having molten lava poured into your bones feels like. I can do it on a whim, but I’d prefer not to.”

  “Hmm.” She was close enough to press her hand against his forehead, and found his skin burned hot as a black car in the summer sun. “You’re like a big space heater.”

  “And I bet you could use the heat. Your lips are turning blue again. Can you help me get those two up into the truck?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And drive the rest of the way?” At that, he quirked up an eyebrow, obviously doubting she could do it.

  “We’re, what, two miles away? I can keep my eyes open that long. I swear it.”

  As if she had a choice. If she didn’t check in with the Shrews within the next twenty minutes, she’d have some very angry ladies on her heels, and sometimes they liked to shoot first and ask questions later.

  He jabbed a finger at her shoulder, and she was so off-balance she actually tottered a bit backward. “If you swerve, I’m stopping and we’ll just leave the car in a ditch or something.”