Stryker's Desire (Dragons Of Sin City Book 1)

by Meg Ripley

  “Then there’s probably going to be another attack, right? One meal isn’t going to be enough.” She paused for a moment, looking up at the night sky, wringing her hands as she thought about what she intended to confess. Dean, I have something I need to—oh no!”

  “What?”

  “The light in my parent’s room just came on. Come on.” She released his arm and took off down the street, quickly closing in on the house. He ran after her without questioning it, following her around the corner to the back of the house where she was attempting to crawl through her window. He grabbed her ass to give her a final boost over the sill, not quite giving the yielding flesh a squeeze.

  “Get down. Don’t move. Stay in the shadows there,” she whispered before disappearing from the window. He hunkered down as instructed not as he heard the door hinges squeak open.

  “Mari, are you asleep?” her mother asked. She waited for several beats before closing the door and returning to her room. As soon as he saw the square of light from their window disappear, he straightened and peered into Marisol’s dark bedroom.

  “That was close,” he whispered.

  “Oh my god, my heart is beating so fast right now.”

  He chuckled. “Well, no harm, no foul.”

  “Thanks for walking me home, cowboy,” she whispered.

  He tipped his hat. “It was my pleasure, ma’am.”

  “Be safe out there.”

  “I’ll stay out of the bear’s way.”

  “Good night.”

  The moon provided just enough light to see her outlined on the bed. For a brief moment, he considered how easy it would be to climb on through the window and join her and—well, they’d probably wake her parents at that point. So, it was best to steal one final glance and whisper, “Pleasant dreams.”

  He followed the tracks they’d left in the dewy grass and returned to the street. He took the mile back to the arena at a much quicker pace, the heels of his boots tapping a quick tattoo on the pavement. Marisol’s questions had been casual and general enough to pass for a simple conversation, but he knew her questions were only the beginning. Sooner or later, the sheriff would come knocking on his door. If he was lucky, they’d only question him, but he wasn’t born under a lucky star.

  There was only one week until the pro rodeo came to town.

  One week until he could win enough money to qualify as a professional rider.

  One week until he could take the next step towards his dream of becoming a world champion.

  But only if he and his brothers weren’t driven out of town before that week was up.

  ****

  Marisol fell asleep in the comforting confines of her bed—the same bed she’d slept in since she was twelve. She replayed her conversation with Dean in her head again and again, feeling both completely amped up and totally disappointed. Walking that close to him, arm-in-arm, had been exciting, but it was only enough to sharpen her hunger. The lack of a goodnight kiss was a complete disappointment, though understandable given how close she was to getting caught. She was wondering what that kiss might have tasted like when she finally drifted into dreamland.

  After a few hours, she woke with a sudden jolt. Heart pounding, her eyes quickly scanned the room, and it was then that she realized her bed was gone—in fact, her entire bedroom had disappeared, and instead of tasting the ghost of Dean’s lips from her dream, there was something hot and coppery and vile on her tongue. She spluttered and coughed, trying to spit the flavor from her mouth, but it coated her cheeks and teeth and lips. Marisol rolled to her side, putting her hand down on damp, sticky grass. Her eyes focused in on the spot where her hand met the ground; where a rusty shade of red met dewy green.

  Blood, a voice inside her helpfully supplied. It’s blood. You’re covered in it. Surrounded.

  Her heart leapt to her throat and panic clawed at the edges of her vision. She took a deep breath and tried to rein in her fear like an errant horse. Now wasn’t the time to freak out; she could freak out later when she was certain the blood didn’t belong to her.

  Slowly, somehow, she found her feet. The ground was slippery and she nearly lost her footing, but she managed to catch herself and straighten up, taking in the full view of what she woke in the middle of.

  But once she saw it, she really wished she hadn’t.

  She wanted to sink back to the ground and close her eyes and never wake up again. She wanted to run screaming for help. She wanted to run the opposite direction and keep running until she was sure nobody would be able to find her.

  The blood did not belong to her. She had no open wounds or injuries that she could see. Other than being scared, confused, and covered in blood and viscera, she was unharmed. But the man—or rather, what remained of the man—she woke up next to could not say the same. He was torn apart, brutally savaged by teeth and claws. His eyes were still open and they stared at her sightlessly, yet somehow full of fear and recrimination. You did this to me, those eyes said. Why did you do this to me?

  “I don’t know,” Marisol whispered. “I don’t know, I don’t know. This can’t be happening. This can’t be real. Oh god, this can’t be real.”

  She pinched her arm. She raked her nails down her cheeks. She fisted her hair and pulled on the roots until her scalp tingled. Nothing worked. Nothing roused her from this nightmare. The man’s throat was shredded, his stomach torn open, his arms mangled, his face smashed.

  She didn’t recognize him. He wasn’t a local. Maybe a cowboy who just showed up for the rodeo. One who would never ride again.

  She backed away from the poor man’s remains, trying to put as much space as possible between them. She couldn’t look away from him, though, even as her stomach twisted and writhed and threatened to empty itself. She swallowed down the first taste of bile, doing everything she could to hold it all back, begging God to help her because she didn’t want to see what might come out. It was too easy to imagine the dark ochre fluid flowing from her mouth, and what would she do if she caught sight of a finger? Or his nose?

  Marisol got herself moving without too much thought of her destination. She wanted to shower, but what if she got in trouble for washing away the evidence? Evidence. Shuddering, she tried to dismiss that thought, but she couldn’t. She was covered in evidence. The body would be covered in evidence. There would be evidence of the crime of murder which she clearly committed. Perhaps she should go directly to the police and save everybody time and effort by turning herself in and making a full confession.

  Confession to what? The inner voice asked. Are you going to admit you fell asleep? You don’t know what happened. You don’t even know if you did anything.

  Well, something had happened, and she’d clearly been involved. Perhaps she should wait and get the police involved, she thought.

  Her next thought was of running home. Her father would know what to do. Her mom would get her all cleaned up and then they’d sit around the table and she’d explain how she woke up and then her parents would tell her what should happen next. They wouldn’t let the police take her away. Her dad would help her find a sensible explanation of the apparent mauling and everything would be fine.

  Unless the sensible explanation was that Marisol was a bear shifter.

  How would she face that? How would her mother ever forgive her? She’d probably call the sheriff herself and send Marisol away. She’d probably think that was a better solution than letting her daughter run wild.

  Suddenly, home didn’t seem like the safest, or smartest, answer.

  She had only one friend who might understand: Dean. He was a Longstrider, and even if he hadn’t admitted to being a bear himself, he would definitely know more about what happened than anybody else. But she couldn’t run through town covered in blood and looking like an extra from a horror movie. She couldn’t linger there at the scene any longer, either. It was still early, but soon the whole town would be waking up, and she was only a few blocks from the heart of the small community.


  Just then, the ding from her phone almost made her jump out of her skin. She fumbled it out of her pocket with numb fingers. There was a new crack in the corner of the screen, but otherwise it was fine. The message was from Rachel, asking her if she finally got a ride on her cowboy. Marisol ignored the question and searched for Dean in her contact list. The phone rang five times and she almost hung up, but the sixth ring was answered with a sleepy, “Hello?”

  “Dean. Dean, it’s me. Something’s happened. I...I don’t know what. But something...I need your help!”

  “Where are you?” The sleepy rasp was gone from his voice.

  “Near the park on the east side.”

  “Are you hurt?”

  “No...no, I don’t think so. But Dean, I can’t stay here. It’s bad. It’s real, real, real bad.”

  “Okay, sit tight. I’ll be there in just a minute.”

  “God, thank you,” she said quickly before the call cut out. Okay, it’ll be okay, she reassured herself again and again. Somehow, someway, they would figure out a way to make this okay.

  Dean was true to his word. He pulled up to her within minutes, his chest bare, like he hadn’t even taken the time to put on a shirt. His eyes widened when he saw her, and she rushed to say, “The blood isn’t mine. I think...there’s a man...he’s over there. It’s his. I don’t know. I don’t know what happened.”

  “Slow down. Take a deep breath. Just get in the truck. Here, cover yourself with this blanket. We’re going to get you cleaned up and then we’re going to get to the bottom of this. Just tell me everything you know.”

  “I don’t know anything. I woke up and I was here.”

  “Well, we’ll just have to work backwards from there.” He studied her for a moment before asking in a softer tone, “How do you feel?”

  “Feel?”

  “Yes, feel. What does your body feel like right now?”

  “It...it feels full.” She looked at Dean, her eyes brimming with tears. “What does this mean? What have I done?”

  “Maybe nothing. There’s a man who can help us. He’s in Jackson.”

  “Let’s go.”

  “What about your parents?”

  She shook her head; she’d deal with them later. Before she could deal with them, though, she needed to know what was happening to her. She had so many questions that an answer—any answer—would be a huge relief. “Take me wherever we need to go.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  ****

  Rory Longstrider had once been a very big deal. He’d won two world championships with his brother Derek as a team roper, and then once Derek was banished from the professional rodeo association, Rory went on to conquer the world of bull riding. He’d won more money on the circuit than anybody before him and his record stood for ten solid years after his retirement. A man who saw Rory ride could still get a free beer in most towns in Wyoming, as long as he was willing to talk about the legend who could not be thrown from any bull.

  The legend himself did not discuss bulls, or the rodeo, or his championship rides. And he especially did not discuss his brother. There were a lot of questions about Derek; a lot of rumors and gossip, fueled by the public display of his powers and his abrupt and mysterious disappearance. Rory kept to himself on his ranch outside of Jackson, breeding and selling racehorses, and he didn’t have anything to do with the rodeo.

  “Doesn’t he ever watch you ride?” Marisol asked.

  “Nope. Never.”

  “How can that be?”

  Dean looked at her from the corner of his eye. “Did you think the old man mentored me?”

  “Something like that.”

  “No. He doesn’t approve.”

  “He doesn’t approve? That seems a bit—”

  “Hypocritical?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Now you see why we don’t talk much.”

  “Oh.” Marisol fidgeted with the hem of her truck stop sweatshirt. They’d stopped outside of Cody at a Top Stop so she could clean up and change, and Dean had taken the opportunity to call Rory while he waited.

  Rory answered on the second ring. Despite the tension between them, Rory was the type of man who always answered his phone—even if what Dean had to say made him wish he hadn’t.

  “Oh what?”

  “I just...will he be unhappy to see us?”

  “No, don’t worry about that. He knows we’re coming and he wants to help you.”

  “Why doesn’t he approve? Is it because it’s too dangerous?”

  Dean took a deep breath and considered telling her the truth, but at this point, he didn’t know if she would welcome the news as comforting, or if it would only add to her anxiety. Still, he didn’t want to lie to her. He’d lie to the rest of the world, but he wanted her to know the truth.

  “You’ve heard of my father.” Dean snorted. “Heard of him… hell, you probably saw him.”

  “I have. Quite a few times.”

  “And you saw him the night he—”

  “Turned into a bear? Yes. A bull had jumped over the fence and into the stands. Suddenly, there was a big grizzly in the middle of the crowd. It was...scary.”

  “Yeah, I bet it was. Well, my old man never rode any bulls because bulls always brought out the bear in him. Rory, he rode bulls because he wanted to prove to the world there was no bear in him at all.”

  “What about you? Why do you ride?”

  Dean checked his rearview mirror and frowned. “Hey, you don’t think your mom would have called the cops, do you?”

  “Why?” Marisol’s head whipped around. “God! How long has that cruiser been following us?”

  “A few miles. But I’m doing the speed limit.”

  “I don’t know. Even if she did call the sheriff, what would she tell him? That her grown daughter has left the house? I don’t think that’s illegal.” Marisol sighed. “I know she’s just worried about me but...I’ve got too much on my mind to worry about her. And you didn’t answer my question.”

  “What question was that?”

  “Why do you ride?”

  “Because I want to. Would you do it… if you had the chance?”

  “Ride a bull? Hell yeah, I would.”

  “Of course you would. And there’s just nothing else like it.”

  “Not even sex?”

  “It depends on the night. Depends on the ride.”

  Marisol’s laugh was cut short by a wide yawn.

  “Are you tired?” Dean asked. “Why don’t you get some sleep?”

  “I’m okay, I’m just—” she yawned again and blinked at him. “I think it’s the road.”

  “Go ahead and close your eyes. When you wake up, we’ll be there.”

  Dean was true to his word. When she opened her eyes again, they were parked outside of Rory’s secluded cabin in Jackson. The sun was sinking lower and the shadows were long over the man’s face as he walked out to meet them.

  “I still feel sleepy,” she muttered.

  “I know. Rory needs to talk to you, then you can take another nap,” Dean promised as he stepped out of the truck. She was still blinking heavily when he opened her door and helped her to the ground. Rory offered his hand with a warm smile.

  “Howdy, ma’am. You had a long drive. Can I get you some water? Or maybe a beer?”

  “Water, please.”

  Rory was a tall man and he absolutely towered over Marisol. He offered his arm, escorting her up the gravel driveway to his cabin. Dean followed a few paces back, listening as Rory asked about the drive up from Cody. Marisol answered, shooting a curious look over her shoulder to Dean; he nodded and gave her the most reassuring smile he could. Marisol returned his smile, but he could see the trepidation in her eyes. She was probably wondering when the exam would start, but Rory knew everything he needed to know by the time they reached the cabin’s door.

  He ushered Marisol inside and paused to take Dean by the arm. “I need to talk to this girl. Go out to the shed and get my rawhide b
ag. The one by the door.”

  “Is she…?”

  “We’ll know soon enough. Now go. Don’t dawdle.”

  Dean was already taking long strides across the yard. His phone sounded just as he reached the shed. A text from his brother. There’s been another murder. They’re looking for a bear.

  Dean wrote back. Sit tight. Keep your head down. Everything will be fine.

  ****

  “Everything’s a disaster. My life is...it’s ruined.” Marisol lifted her eyes to meet Dean’s, but she couldn’t stand to look at him for more than a second. Rory’s solemn declaration still echoed in her head, twisting her stomach into new and interesting knots with every beat of her heart.

  “Your life is not ruined,” Dean said softly.

  “How will I tell my parents? The sheriff will probably want to arrest me for killing that poor man. I’ll never be allowed back on the rodeo grounds again. They might kick me out of school if they deem me too much of a threat.” She ran her hands through her hair. “Why did this happen to me? How could this happen to me?”

  “Your parents will understand. Mari, you have nothing to be ashamed of. This isn’t your fault.”

  “Well, whose fault is it? How did it happen?”

  Dean shrugged. “It’s nobody’s fault. It just...happened. One of your parents may carry the gene. Hell, they both might. It might just be dormant in them.”

  “But...if I’m a bear shifter, wouldn’t I have always been?”

  “You’ve always been a bear shifter, but you may not have had the ability to shift until now.”

  Dean had been calm and reasonable since the moment Rory gave her the news. He’d told her there was no way to be completely positive until somebody actually saw her shift, but he added, “I’m still pretty damned sure.” Marisol had managed to keep her tears at bay until they were on the road, but now they streamed down without stopping. She wiped them away, but her fear kept the pump primed.

  “Dean, what am I going to do?”

  “You’re going to live your life. You’re going to find a way to control it and you’re going to continue to be Marisol. Beautiful, intelligent, sweet, wonderful Marisol.”