Roaring Up the Wrong Tree

by Celia Kyle

  Occasionally a car zipped past, the residual wind whipping through her while also sending the trash littering the ground spinning and flying through the air. A can rolled into her path and she kicked it, the aluminum tinkling over the hard surface.

  The sounds brought forward old memories of her and her mother doing the same, hand in hand as they walked along the road. Thoughts of the past brought a pain she’d been shoving to the back of her mind for months. She wasn’t going there ever again. Thinking about it couldn’t change anything.

  The deep rumble of an approaching vehicle reached her just as its headlights painted her back. Her shadow danced on the sidewalk, reminding her once again she should think about cutting back and slimming down a little.

  Well, going hungry will help that right along.

  She had to be one of the only fluffy—never fat—shifters. Then again, Lauren hadn’t been all that skinny. Oh, wait, she was human. Damn it, she didn’t have a sister in solidarity.

  The vehicle that neared her actually slowed instead of speeding past and she groaned. Not another one of those. Did she have “I’m a whore” stamped on her ass or something?

  She ignored its presence as it slowed enough to keep pace with her. She also ignored the tell-tale sound of a window being lowered. Maybe the person would just go away.

  “Trista!”

  God hated her.

  Trista glanced at the SUV riding alongside her and glared at the driver. “I’m pretty sure I told you I’m not a whore.”

  Keen grumbled too low for her to hear and then he raised his voice. “I know you’re not a whore. I just wanna talk.”

  “Sorry.” She shrugged. “All talked out.”

  “No, there are plenty of things to say. Such as: what are you doing alternating between Grayslake, Redby, and Boyne Falls when you shouldn’t be anywhere near here?”

  She huffed and stopped, turning toward him with a glare. “Sleeping, working, and working. There, done.”

  She returned to her journey homeward, stomping instead of walking. Panic and worry assaulted her and she prayed he wouldn’t see how much he upset her.

  The law is on my side. The law is on my side.

  Even if the law hadn’t done a damn thing for her seven months ago. Nor had the asshole in the Southeast inner-circle, but she wasn’t a bear and neither was her mother and blah, blah, blah…

  “Trista, I know what you are.” His voice was lowered, but still audible to her. She had no doubt that had a human been present, they wouldn’t have picked up his words.

  “Do you want a gold star?” There, sarcastic was better than sobbing and begging.

  Had her mother begged for her life?

  She shouldn’t think about that.

  “No, I want you to get in this SUV before I haul you in here myself.”

  Trista paused and stared, focusing on him instead of her path. There was no doubt he’d do what he threatened. The resolve was there, written in his features, in his rigid posture. He’d chase her if he needed to, run her to ground and then shove her into his vehicle.

  “C’mon, Trista. I just want to talk.”

  Her stomach rumbled, gurgling with anxiety. “And take me to your brother, or the wolves? I think I’m safer out here.”

  He grimaced. “I swear nothing will happen to you.” He sighed. “Look, whether you talk to me or not, riding with me has to be better than walking. Tell me where you wanna go and I’ll take you. I already know where you live.”

  Trista was torn in two with indecision, but one solid fact stood out from the rest. Even if she didn’t go with him, he knew where she lived. She was no safer standing on the street than she was inside her home.

  “Fine.” She snapped off the word, hating that he’d won.

  She took a step toward him and then, in the most graceful move ever, went tumbling to the ground in a rolling heap.

  Stupid curbs with their stupid drops and… damn that’d hurt.

  Tiny rocks dug into the heels of her hands, scraping her skin, and her purse dumped its contents on the asphalt.

  God could totally cease to exist now. All over, all kinds of ceasing.

  “Trista!”

  Yeah, well, yelling at her as she fell didn’t do much for stopping the falling.

  The heavy thump of his door preceded his rapid stomps as he came toward her. In no time he had his large, warm hands on her, helping her upright. He grasped her hands, cradling them in his as he brushed the debris from her skin. Small droplets of blood surfaced and just as quickly, the wounds healed until they were pink freckles. Go team Hyena.

  He traced the longest line of red skin with his thumb, following it from the base of her pointer finger to her wrist. The sand and dirt fell away beneath his touch.

  “I wasn’t sure,” he whispered.

  “Wasn’t sure what?”

  He continued to stroke her and each pass sent a shiver of want down her spine. “Whether the bear was right.”

  How could a shifter not trust their animal? Nine times out of ten it was spot on. And that one time was usually because it wanted to fuck instead of eat or eat instead of fuck. That’s when it became the human’s call.

  Looking at Keen Abrams, she figured he picked fuck… a lot.

  No man should be that gorgeous.

  Based on his reputation, a lot of a lot.

  Trista cleared her throat, fighting back the snakes of arousal traveling through her blood. Now was not the time to wanna bang the big, bad bear. “What was he right about?”

  “You really are a hyena, but there’s something—”

  “Yup.”

  He brought his gaze to clash with hers. “Why did no one report your presence? Those shifters in the bar? The ones you run into at the gas station? Even those at your apartment?”

  “Yeah, well, I’ve known most of them since I was a kid or they know—knew—my mother. It’s hard to hate someone—turn them in—when you know death is very likely. When they’ve been slinging your drinks or selling you honey buns for years, they aren’t too keen on losing someone they’ve called a friend.” Trista tugged her hands from his grasp and bent to toss her belongings back into her purse. There wasn’t much—she didn’t have a lot at the moment—but whatever she had left, she wanted to keep.

  “But you shouldn’t be here. The pack was—”

  “Purged. The definition of which is to deem a specific species, family, or other type of cohesive group with a definitive, if not solid, hierarchy from inhabiting a specified area.”

  He blinked once, jerking his head back in surprise. “That is… surprisingly accurate.”

  Trista shrugged. Her survival depended on knowing and using the laws to her advantage. “It is what it is.”

  “So you know that your kind”—he said the word as if it tasted vile—“shouldn’t be in Grayslake, Redby, or Boyne Falls.”

  Pushing to her feet once again she shrugged and then flashed Keen a smile. Patting him on the cheek, she grinned even wider. “Why don’t you think of the laws of visitation coupled with the stated definitions and see who’s right about that one?”

  With that, she strode around him and toward the SUV. She’d let him stew on her challenge for a little while and in the meantime, she’d enjoy riding in glorious, leather-lined style.

  *

  Trista was a mystery. Gorgeous, tough, a fighter, and smart as hell, and still a puzzle.

  It made his dick hard.

  It made the bear want to roll in her scent. The scent of human, hyena, and something that didn’t make sense. Something he couldn’t quite nail down.

  Regardless, it made both halves of him crave her.

  But he wasn’t about to act on his desires. At least not until he knew more about her, before he ferreted out all of her secrets.

  The SUV trundled along the rutted road, turning left and then right as he headed toward her place. “Sunwell Apartments, right? Where Lauren Evans used to live?”

  “Yup.” Her attention rem
ained on the passing scenery, which was fine with him. It gave him the chance to watch her as he drove. “Eyes on the road,” she snapped.

  Or not.

  Silence continued to reign and he cleared his throat, determined to fill the empty space. “So, you know a lot about shifter laws.”

  “Yup.”

  “Is there a reason?”

  Trista snorted. “When someone wants you gone or wants to treat you like shit, and you disagree, it’s a good idea to tell him why continuing would be a mistake.”

  “And you can do that?” Keen turned down Sunwell Street and then left into the community parking lot.

  The moment he popped the SUV into park, her hand was on the door handle, tugging it to enable her escape. It took every ounce of strength he possessed to stay put. The beast in him wanted to snatch her back and take her to his den.

  Instead, he remained frozen when she hopped down and stepped away. Hand clutching the edge of the door, she focused on him once more. “I know I can. We,” she coughed, “I’ve been doing it for twenty years and as long as you realize you’re wrong, and tell your Itan, I’ll continue to do so.”

  His gut clenched when she’d said “we” and it nearly turned inside out when she slammed the door closed and dashed toward the apartment building.

  That’s when he finally noticed the place, took in the details, and he frowned. The roof toward the left side sagged and seemed to be waiting for any reason to collapse. Several shutters dangled precariously from the windows and at least one pane of glass looked like it’d been smashed in.

  Half the lights in the parking lot were out while the other half were so dim, they didn’t make much of a difference. Cracks littered the asphalt, some so large and jagged that they rose above the flat surface. Trash and debris were scattered everywhere, dancing in the breeze. Several splashes of neon yellow caught his eye, some balled and others flitting in the wind.

  Keen remembered the place used to belong to one of the bears who betrayed the clan and tried to kill both Mia and Lauren. He wondered who’d taken possession of it and why they hadn’t bothered fixing it up.

  A high-pitched, feminine curse split the air, reaching through his windshield and grabbing him by the throat.

  Trista.

  He was out of his SUV before the desire to go to her fully formed. One moment he sat behind the wheel of his vehicle, the engine softly purring, and the next he was on the move. He bolted toward the stairwell, hunting her. His bear lent his assistance, allowing him to sniff out her path as he ran. He raced up one level and then sprinted up another before sliding to a stop on the landing.

  Another curse, this one louder than the last, reached him and he hurried to her. He paused in an open doorway and gripped the door frame. The scent surrounding the area told him this was her place and he scowled. The room was sparse and that was being generous in his description.

  There was literally no furniture in sight. No couch or dining room table and the walls were bare. Just… nothing.

  “Fuckery Fuck McFuckerson!” Trista came stomping into the living room and froze, glaring at him. She pointed a finger in his direction and sneered. “Don’t tell me what to say. And if you even think of going furry on my pissed-off ass I will cut you.”

  “Um… Okay?”

  He wasn’t sure what the problem was, but he wanted to fix it. He and the bear wanted to put a smile on her face and keep it there. Forever.

  That thought gave him a gut-check. After all these years, all the women, the bear really had settled on a single female.

  Trista.

  “I can’t believe he did it. He fucking did it.” She ran her hands through her hair and then down her neck, lifting her face to the ceiling. The move exposed the smooth line of her throat. Or rather, not smooth. Scars littered her pale skin and he opened his mouth to ask about them, but she kept speaking. “It’s all gone.”

  “Gone? This isn’t how it normally is?” He knew she didn’t have money, her clothes attested to that.

  That earned him a wide-eyed stare. “Seriously?”

  “Uh…” He was so out of depth with her.

  Trista took another look through the room, glaring at the blank walls, and then stomped toward him. “Fuck this. The bastard took my bed and I want that shit back.”

  When she got close, he stepped out of the way and let her pass. She tramped down the stairs, speed increasing as she neared the first floor. She broke into a brisk walk once she hit the sidewalk, feet moving faster and faster with each step. By the time they rounded the end of the building she was practically running.

  He didn’t know where she was headed, but he refused to leave her side, even when she glared at him. Instead of justifying his presence, he shrugged and kept up with her. Something obviously infuriated her and he wanted to be there when she confronted whoever she was poised to challenge.

  She finally halted before a battered, dented door and instantly began pounding on it with her fist. “Hey! Asshole! Open this fucking door!” She kicked the metal panel. “I want my shit back! I want my bed, dickhead!”

  Keen’s bear rose to its feet, a threatening rumble filling his mind. “He took your things?”

  His voice was soft, but the threat lingered in his tone. He would take on the male behind the door and get Trista’s belongings back whether the man had a right to them or not. Period.

  Trista glowered. “Why are you here? I can take care of myself. Go home to one of your girlfriends or something. Find Bambi or whatever.” She pounded on the door some more. “Hey, asshole, open up.”

  He ignored the dig and the denial sprung to his lips. He didn’t have a woman in every corner of the town. There was a reason. Without them he…

  “Obviously,” he drawled. “Is this the new owner’s apartment?”

  “Yes,” she snapped and then kicked it again.

  “Stand back.” He eased her aside and her frown returned in full force. He’d accept her anger if it meant making her happy when all was said and done. Mimicking Trista’s earlier actions, he knocked and raised his voice. “Open the door.”

  Where she’d failed, he succeeded. Not because he yelled louder or was male. No, he allowed his bear to come forward, fill his voice, and his deep baritone crawled through the door to the male on the other side. Pure power filled him and was then directed at the male he had yet to face.

  In less than a second, the panel swung wide, revealing the new owner of Sunwell Apartments.

  A hint of fear coated the man’s features which pleased the bear, but the rest of the male disgusted Keen. He looked much like Jerry from the gas station: pot belly, stringy hair, and a scent that curdled his stomach. It took a lot for a bear to gain so much weight and get fat that way. The male had obviously been working at it for a long time.

  “Sir?” The man’s eyes were wide with fear and he tilted his head, acknowledging Keen’s dominance. His inner-animal was pleased with the show of submission and then the owner looked at Trista, giving her a loathsome scowl.

  That did not please the beast.

  “What are you doing with this garbage?”

  The scent of Trista’s rage surrounded him, pummeled him with her anger, and he caught her wrist before she could strike the man. Not because he didn’t want her to defend herself. No, he just didn’t want her to get in the way when he punched the asshole.

  But he had a few things to discover first.

  “Your name?”

  “Craven Simmons.”

  “And you own Sunwell now?” He raised his eyebrows.

  “Yeah, after that—” Craven swallowed the words, which saved his life. As it was, he’d earned a beating simply because he upset the woman at his side. “Yes.”

  “So, what happened to Trista’s things?”

  “Is that what this is about?” Craven curled his lip. “She owed rent and I took payment.”

  “Uh-huh.” He looked to her. “That true?”

  “Depends who you ask,” she hedged.
<
br />   “I’m asking you.”

  She sighed. “Here’s how things go with people like me.” She pointed at herself. “I’m a half-hyena—”

  Craven spat on the ground at her feet and Keen reacted without thought. He went after the male before he could blink, grabbing him around the throat with one hand and yanking him from the apartment. With hardly any effort, he slammed the werebear against the brick wall and held him steady even as he fought to get free.

  “You were saying?” Craven gurgled and Keen tightened his hold. “Sorry about that. Continue.”

  “I’m half-hyena and have—had—difficulties with the local pack before, well, before. That meant we—I—had problems finding jobs and a place to live. Some people like Bru don’t give a damn what you are as long as you pay rent. In my case, it was double the price of anyone else.”

  That shit was going to stop. “Go on.”

  “When Bru was killed, this guy”—she waved toward the still gasping Craven—“raised my rent again. People like me don’t get rental agreements. We get a wink and a nudge. So he raised it and I can’t pay it. I’ve been doing the best I can, but…” She shrugged and the insecurity and unease in her gaze made him want to hug her close. “But it’s not enough. I got home this morning and found an eviction notice on my front door and my place was empty.” She focused on Craven and before Keen could blink, she kneed the asshole in the balls. “You took all my cash, dickhead.”

  Had the man been able to breathe, he probably would have cried out in pain. But he couldn’t. So he didn’t.

  “Your things? Your money?” Rage suffused him, filling his every breath. “What made it worse tonight?”

  “I at least had a couch, a table, and a bed in there. They came with the apartment. Now I’ve got nothing.” She rushed forward again, but this time Keen managed to catch her with his free arm.

  “Easy now.” He noted the trembles that wracked her body. She was pissed and—he breathed deep—scared as hell.

  Yup, not happening. Not to his Trista.

  “I left the SUV running. Why don’t you go get in there for me?”

  The shakes increased. “But—”