by Zoe Chant
"Wait!" Helen called. "I'm coming with you."
The bear made a low growly sound, shaking his head.
"Yes, I am!" Helen said. "You need someone to watch your back."
She didn't give him any more time to argue with her. The chairs they'd been bound on had gotten knocked over in the fight. She pulled one upright, dragged it over, and used it as a stepping stool to swing herself up onto the bear's back.
The bear made a startled sound. He turned his head to nudge her legs and made a grumbling noise.
"It's okay! I used to ride ponies as a kid, I can do this!" Helen said.
The bear grumbled again, but he didn't seem to want to go so far as to buck her off. She could hear steps coming down the stairs again; the men up there had regrouped. The time to argue was over.
The bear lunged. Helen yelped, grabbing hold of the fur at the back of his neck with both hands.
It wasn't anything like riding a pony. For one thing, the bear was fast, as fast as a racehorse, leaping forward in great bounds. She could feel the muscles flexing in his back, feel his enormous coiled strength.
She'd been on a motorcycle once, riding with a friend on the back of a racing machine. It was a little like that—the burst of explosive speed, the feeling of sheer power beneath her—but even that couldn't compare. Riding a rocket might feel like this.
Two leaps carried them all the way up the stairs.
There were more men up there, but they weren't expecting to be attacked by a bear any more than their comrades had, and the few seconds of advantage that surprise bought them turned out to be all they needed. Tom leaped and twisted, knocking men out of the way as he went, smashing a gun into the wall so hard the barrel bent.
There was one bad moment when a mercenary got behind him, lifting his gun—Helen threw himself off the bear's back, straight on top of the man. She was a heavy woman—she'd never been so glad to be a heavy woman in her life—and the man went down beneath her weight. She fell with him, rolling aside as quickly as she could.
The man was drawing a knife, but Tom was already there, dragging the man away from her with his claws in the back of the man's vest, tossing him into a wall. The man slid limply to the floor, unconscious.
The room went silent. The bear tilted his head this way and that, listening, scenting the air. His white fur seemed to be growing brighter, almost glowing from within. A hazy light blurred his shape. And then Tom was standing where the bear had been.
"That's the last of them," he said.
He started dragging the dazed, groaning men up off the ground and carrying them down the stairs one by one. One of the men had a first aid kit in his pack. Tom improvised a tourniquet for the unconscious man with the knife in his leg. "He's going to be fine," Tom said. "You didn't hit anything critical."
Helen looked at the bandage and swallowed hard. She'd stabbed a man. There'd been no other choice… but she still couldn't believe she'd actually done it.
When the last of the men had been carried down to the basement room, Tom locked the big steel door behind them. "That should hold them," he said, coming back up the stairs. "I couldn't hear anyone else around, and bears have pretty good hearing. We're safe."
Helen took a staggering step towards the wall. She slid down inch by inch until she was sitting on the reassuringly solid concrete floor. The room was spinning around her.
"Helen! Are you okay?" Tom's eyes were wide and anxious.
"I stabbed a man," she said. Her voice cracked.
"You didn't have a choice. You saved my life."
"I just, I just picked up the knife and I stabbed him."
"Helen, you're scaring me. Hey, look at me. It's all right. You did what you had to do. I'm proud of you. And that man's going to be fine." Tom was rubbing her shoulder, gentle and steady.
Helen focused on him with an effort. "You're a bear," she said, dazed. "And I'm mad at you! You lied to me!" she added, suddenly remembering; that had seemed really unimportant for a while there.
"I'm a bear shifter," Tom said. He looked agonized. "I'm so sorry I didn't tell you—you spend your whole childhood getting it drilled in your head that you can't ever talk about being a shifter, it's, it's a hard habit to break—"
He broke off, startled. Helen found that she was laughing, suddenly, almost breathless with it; it startled her, too. "Are you kidding me? Of course you didn't tell me!" she yelled. "You can't just go around telling people you're a werebear! I'd have thought you were crazy! Because that's crazy! I'm mad you lied about being a billionaire!"
Her next breath came out as a sob. She squeezed her eyes closed.
Maybe she was a little more shaken by what had happened than she'd realized. She wasn't usually a shouty kind of person. In fact, this might be what hysteria felt like. "I think someone needs to slap me," she said, still feeling that crazy urge to laugh. That's what they did with hysterical people in the movies, right?
"I think I should get you out of here," Tom said.
He wrapped his arm around her shoulders. Helen huddled into him. He was so big and warm. She was shivering, she realized. The urge to laugh was gone like it'd never been. Her eyes stung.
She gritted her teeth. She wasn't going to cry.
In the distance, there was a faint sound of sirens, coming rapidly closer.
"Someone must have heard the gunshots," Tom said.
"What are we going to tell the police? We can't exactly tell them you turned into a bear and fought your way out."
"Leave that to me," Tom said. He started rooting through the mercenary's packs. "Hang on a second. They're mercs, someone's bound to have something… There we go." He pulled out a small packet of white powder. He ripped it open, dumped half the contents in a pile on the table, and scraped the rest into a rough line with a knife blade. "Let me do the talking," he said.
The sirens were very close now. Tires screeched as several cars pulled to a halt in front of the house.
Helen listened as Tom told the police a highly edited version of the whole story.
"…I'm not really sure how we got out, to be honest," he concluded. "They suddenly just went crazy, screaming, fighting each other—half of them were raving about seeing bears!" He nodded towards the little pile of white powder on the table. "I'm not sure what those drugs are, but I think they're really bad news."
The officer in charge didn't seem inclined to argue too much with his version of events. Officer Lyndon was a stocky middle-aged woman whose duties at the small local police station clearly didn't usually include showdowns with organized crime. She'd gone pale at the word "kidnapping" and turned faintly green around the edges when Tom had started talking about the mafia.
"The biggest case we've had out here in three years was Matt Johnson lighting the Miller barn on fire, and that was really just him being a troubled teenager," she said faintly. She seemed immensely relieved when Tom gently suggested that maybe the FBI should be brought in on this.
"All right if we get some fresh air while we wait?" Tom asked.
"Yeah, sure," Officer Lyndon said distractedly.
"Come on," Tom said quietly. He steered Helen outside with one warm hand in the small of her back, taking her to a small pond out back behind the house, where they were shielded from view by a tall stand of trees. Helen stared at the still water. Dragonflies buzzed over the surface. A big water lily blossom had opened halfway.
It was beginning to hit her that they'd made it. After everything that had happened, they were still alive. She could feel her heart beating inside her chest. All it would have taken was one stray bullet. The air seemed to taste sweeter; every inch of her skin felt alive. When Tom put a hand on her arm, she felt it like a brand on her newly sensitized nerves.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
"Yes," she said slowly, still wondering at the truth of it.
She was alive. She was alive, and he'd saved her. Her bodyguard billionaire. Helen grinned to herself. Bodyguard billionaire werebear. Billionbear.
"What?" Tom asked, seeing her smile.
Helen shook her head. "I'm alive," she said. She caught his hand and set it on the side of her face, rubbing her cheek against his rough palm. Desire ignited inside her like a flame, all-consuming, brilliant. She was alive, and every inch of her body wanted him.
Tom bent down to kiss her. She could feel his heartbeat thrumming where his chest pressed against hers. She groaned and rose up on tiptoes, straining up to meet his mouth with hers. He caught her and lifter her up until she could wrap her legs around his waist. She was wet already, her pussy aching, and it felt incredible to press herself against him.
Tom's cock pushed against her thigh, so hard she could feel the heat of it through both their layers of clothing. His hand slid down over her ass, pressing them tighter together. He slipped the tips of his fingers beneath the waistband of her jeans. Helen moaned, feeling his fingers on her naked skin.
Tom gave a low, rumbling growl in response. He ground his hips against hers until she was moaning, a low, helpless sound.
The sound of sirens cut through the silence, breaking the spell.
Tom pulled back with a pained groan, setting her gently back on her feet. "Dammit. That's the feds. We're going to have to deal with this."
The FBI agents pulled into the yard in a bunch of big black SUVs. Officer Lyndon greeted them with visible relief. The agent in charge, a tall blonde woman in a severely strict pantsuit, drew Tom aside for a moment.
"I'm Agent Cross. I'm told that someone's been hallucinating a bear?" she asked, lifting one eyebrow.
"A bad drug reaction," Tom said. For a moment, his eyes seemed to change, flaring an intense blue; it could have been a trick of the light, but Helen thought of the polar bear's striking blue eyes and knew it wasn't.
"Was it? One might get the impression that someone's been careless," Agent Cross said. Her eyes glowed golden for a moment. Helen held her breath.
"I didn't have a choice," Tom said. "This is Helen. My mate," he added, as if that explained everything.
Agent Cross's eyes softened. "Fair enough," she said. "Can't say I'd be too careful if it was my mate's life on the line, either. I'm going to organize an interview room. Don't go anywhere."
"Is she a shifter?" Helen asked quietly, once she'd left.
"Yeah. There's a lot of shifters in the police and the military. Someone needs to make sure there aren't too many questions asked when people start having, um, mass hallucinations about someone turning into an animal." He shrugged sheepishly. "None of us want to end up an experiment on a lab table somewhere. And for a lot of us—wolf shifters, especially—there's a pretty strong instinct to protect the pack, so the police is a good fit."
Agent Cross came back to take them to a room at the back of the house, where three chairs had been arranged around a table. Tom pulled out Helen's chair for her and then immediately shifted his own chair closer to hers.
Helen couldn't help but think of the last interrogation room she'd been in, with Officer Bradley; how scared and alone she'd felt, then. Now, she had Tom by her side, his shoulder brushing against hers in silent support.
Agent Cross set a recorder down in the middle of the table, but didn't switch it on yet. "I should really be interviewing the two of you separately. Yeah, I know," she said, lifting a placating hand when Tom gave a low, almost subsonic growl at the idea of them being separated. "I know. She's your mate."
She said it just the way Tom had earlier, as if the word had a magic all its own, some deeper meaning Helen didn't understand yet. She was going to have to ask Tom about this later, Helen realized.
"You're going to tell me your version of what happened," Agent Cross said, nodding at Helen, and then turned to Tom, "and you're not going to interrupt. That's about as far as I can bend the rules even for a mated pair. Are we clear?"
Tom nodded grudgingly. He reached out, giving Helen's hand a quick, supportive squeeze. Helen squeezed back.
She told the entire story, starting from that horrible night at Tony's restaurant. Agent Cross's face grew more grim with every word.
"You agreed to testify against Mr. Amodeo, and they just sent you home?" she finally interrupted, incredulous. "You should have been offered a lawyer, witness protection…"
"That's not the only strange thing, either," Tom said. "There's no way he should have been able to find us at the mansion. I didn't file a flight plan for the helicopter. They must have access to classified radar data."
"You think Amodeo has got people inside the police department," Agent Cross said darkly.
"Don't you?" he countered.
Agent Cross swore under her breath. "Nothing I hate more than a corrupt cop."
She sighed, rubbing a hand over her face. "I've got what I need for now. This is going to be one hell of a mess to sort out. Get your mate home, she looks exhausted," she told Tom.
"I'm fine," Helen said quickly, although the effect was probably ruined by the way she had to stifle a yawn midway through the word. She was exhausted, that was true; but underneath the exhaustion, she could still feel that strange exhilaration, like a bell ringing in time with her heartbeat: We're alive. We survived.
"You'll want to take a hotel room for a couple of days. Use a fake name, tell no one where you're going. Pay cash," Cross said. "I'd offer you witness protection, but frankly, you're probably better protection for her than any agent I could spare."
"I'll keep her safe," Tom said.
A little shiver went through Helen, waking an answering tingle between her thighs. The words had the solemn ring of an oath, and she knew that Tom would keep his word. He'd do whatever it took to protect her.
***
Tom took them to the Four Seasons. Helen looked wide-eyed around the marble-and-crystal splendor of the lobby. Their suite was big enough to host a whole family. Helen sprawled out on her back on the enormous bed, staring up at the intricate stucco detail lining the ceiling. A few hours ago, she'd been tied up in a dank basement room, facing death. And now here she was, safe and sound and surrounded by luxury. She ran her hand over one of the many lacy white pillows, feeling the fine soft cotton beneath her fingertips. This was real. They were safe. They were alive.
"How are you doing?" Tom asked. He knelt on the edge of the bed, reaching out for her.
The low thrum beneath Helen's skin woke to life with a roar at the touch of Tom's hand. Her entire body tingled, hungry and alive. Heat gathered between her thighs.
She caught Tom's reaching hand and yanked him down on top of her. Tom gave a low, startled laugh.
"Hey," he said.
Helen arched up for a kiss. He moaned, catching her with one arm beneath her shoulders and yanking her up into his embrace, kissing her back just as eagerly.
Helen tugged at the collar of his shirt, fumbling for the first button, her hands clumsy with eagerness. She desperately wanted to feel his skin against hers, to convince herself that he was real, that he was here and safe with her.
Tom's hands joined hers. He yanked his shirt open. Buttons went flying. Helen skimmed her own blouse off. Tom was already deftly opening the catch of her bra, and then finally there was nothing but skin between them when she pulled him down on top of her. Her naked breasts pressed against his powerful chest. She could feel his heart beating.
"Am I too heavy? You can get on top—" Tom started, but Helen only pulled him more firmly down on top of herself. His body was stretched out above hers, enveloping her in his warmth and his scent, sheltering her. Tom set his arms beside her shoulders, keeping himself braced above her. Helen wrapped her legs around his waist. God, he was gorgeous. She loved how strong he was, how powerful; she wanted to climb him like a tree. When she ran her hands over his arms, she could feel the muscles stand out in sharp definition. He was so strong, even without his strange bear shifter powers. And yet she felt entirely safe with him. She knew down to her bones that he'd never hurt her, that he'd do anything to keep her safe.
And yet he'd l
ied to her.
Don't think of that now, Helen told herself.
Right now, all she wanted was to let herself have this one perfect moment, to give in to the powerful rush of blood in her body that told her she was alive.
She grabbed Tom by the shoulders and tumbled him over. He was strong enough that she couldn't have shifted him by force, but he went easily, rolling over onto his back and pulling her on top of him, leaning up for a long, passionate kiss. Helen shifted until she could straddle one of his thighs and rub against him, relieve some of that hungry throbbing ache between her legs.
The position pressed her thigh firmly up against Tom's cock. He groaned, arching up against her. Helen ran her hand down his side to the front of his pants, feeling the heavy shape of his big cock, so hot she could feel it even through the thick fabric of his jeans.
"Please," Tom said. His hips thrust up once against her hand before he stilled himself again, his body thrumming with tension. Helen felt almost drunk on the power he was giving her; it was obvious how badly he wanted her, but he would control himself for as long as she wanted him to.
She ran her fingers over his cock, exploring him. Tom let his head fall back with a groan. He was gorgeous, and right now, he was all hers. She wanted to touch him all over. When she kissed him, Tom responded with such hunger it ignited a fire inside her. She slid down a little, kissing his neck, his chest, the flat plane of his stomach.
She flicked the button open on his jeans and then slowly drew down the zipper. Tom watched her, a barely-restrained fire burning in his wild dark eyes. Helen pushed his pants and underwear down. His cock really was the perfect size, nice and big, but not so big as to be intimidating. She ran her fingers over it curiously, enjoying the way it made Tom shudder all over, and then gave the head an experimental lick. Tom let out an almost pained-sounding groan. He tasted delicious, a little bit salty, but above all else like himself; the taste of him was as instantly familiar as his scent had been.
Tom ran his fingers through her hair, stroking an errant lock back from her face. Helen turned her head and gave the tips of his fingers a teasing little kiss, and then she bent down and sucked his cock into her mouth. She could feel the muscles flexing in Tom's thighs, tensing and releasing, but he was holding perfectly still for her, letting her explore him.