Hunter: A Werebear + BBW Paranormal Romance (Beast Warriors Book 2)

by Devlin, Bliss

  "Do you swear upon your name and your honor to keep this faith?" asked Hal.

  Catrina inclined her head. "I swear it," she said softly. "And may God strike me down if I break faith with Brett Thorfinnson."

  "I accept your homage," Brett said, his fingers tightening around Catrina's."And I swear to do all that is right and proper as your sponsor. In return for your homage, I will protect you with my sword, my shield, and my last drop of blood. You will always have a roof over your head and a place at my table. I will guard your honor as my own and ask nothing of you that would stain your honor."

  Catrina grinned up at him.

  His bear stirred in the back of his mind and approved of what had just happened.

  Brett's breath caught with the realization that this beautiful, amazing shifter woman was his now.

  His to care for.

  His to protect—if she let him.

  And his to kill, if she was the spy that he hoped she wasn't.

  "Welcome to Elysia, Catrina Hunter," said Hal. He added, as if reading Brett's thoughts. "Don't force Brett to kill you, eh?"

  Catrina blinked at this but left her hands in Brett's.

  "Don't worry about that," Shannon assured Catrina. "Hal said the same thing to Rafe when Rafe agreed to become my sponsor."

  * * *

  Yummy Cowboy's warm hands tightened around hers at Hal Sigurdsson's words. They felt somehow protective, which was odd considering that Brett Thorfinnson had just stated his willingness to kill her if Hal—or whoever else was in charge of the shifters in Elysia—ordered him to do so.

  She wondered what Yummy Cowboy's hands would feel like on other parts of her body and had to swallow hard at the sudden, vivid picture of those big, callused hands cupping her breasts as he stood behind her, both of them naked, and…

  Down, girl. You've known him all of, what, three hours?

  "I promise to be a good girl," Catrina said solemnly, embarrassed by her body's enthusiastic reaction to her little fantasy…and knowing that she probably couldn't keep it a secret from keen shifter noses. Damn it."And I'll help out in any way that I can."

  "Very good," said Hal. "Now, let's talk about community service. All the shifters living in Elysia are expected to work and do their parts."

  Catrina tensed. Would Hal follow in Perry's footsteps and ask her to do his dirty work? That's what jaguars and wolves were commonly used for, wasn't it? Scouts, assassins, thieves…all the stuff that required quick reflexes and a talent for stealth.

  She was suddenly glad that she had clamped down on her impulse to reveal that she was a former SEAL.

  Yummy Cowboy was still holding her hands. He felt her tense and responded with a comforting squeeze.

  And damned if it didn't make her feel better.

  What was it about this particular bear shifter?

  Normally, her jaguar bristled when another shifter, especially a shifter of another species, got too close to her. But her cat was practically purring for this guy. This bear.

  Hal said, "We currently have an opening for a paramedic in Elysia's volunteer fire department. Do you have any military medic training?"

  Fire department? I'd kill for the chance to do something to help people for a change!

  Excitement made her betray herself. "I completed the SOCM course while I was still on active duty," she answered eagerly.

  That, at least, was a memory that Perry hadn't excised.

  Hal's brows shot up at the revelation, but Yummy Cowboy asked, "SOCM? What does that stand for?"

  Hal answered for her, "It's the Special Operations Combat Medic course. Designed for Special Forces operators." His glacial stare rested on her, and she knew he had more questions. "So tell me, Catrina Hunter…is that the name you served under?"

  Damn. Damn. Damn. If she told him the truth, would she lose the chance to become a firefighter?

  If she lied to him, would she end up dead?

  "No, sir," Catrina said reluctantly. "I enlisted as Catrina Gonzales."

  "Catrina…Gonzales. From Los Angeles," Hal repeated slowly. Then he nodded, as if she had just confirmed something he already knew. "I remember reading about you…first woman to ever become a Navy SEAL, wasn't it?"

  "Yes, sir," she answered. Damn.

  Yummy Cowboy's hands tightened around hers again, and he whistled in admiration.

  "No shit? You’re that Catrina?" He smiled ruefully down at her. "No wonder you did such a good job of almost kicking my ass just now."

  "At the time, I wondered if you might be a closeted shifter," Hal commented, ignoring Brett. "Why the name change? You're not nearly old enough to need a new identity."

  "The navy thinks I was killed in action, because no ordinary human could have survived what happened to me on my last mission. Or healed the way I did."

  Hal nodded again.

  "Well, we could definitely use someone of your talents in Elysia," he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

  Catrina's heart sank at the barely concealed eagerness on his face.

  She knew he wouldn't want to waste her on the fire department now. He would use her for whatever covert ops he was running out of this rinky-dink town.

  But Hal surprised her. "Then, in addition to the firefighting, I'd like to offer you a paid position as a hand-to-hand combat and marksman instructor. We have younger shifters here who have never served in the military or worked for WSS, and they need to learn what they can in case they're ever called upon to help defend Elysia. And there are a few older shifters, former Beast Warriors, who do passably well with rifles and shotguns but could badly use a refresher course in pistols and general marksmanship practice."

  She gaped at him.

  He misread the astonishment in her expression. "If you don't want the job, I won't force you to do it. Take some time and think about what work you're qualified to do that someone in town or out on one of the ranches might be willing to hire you for."

  Catrina couldn't imagine what sort of civilian job she might want. She had a pretty extensive skill set, but it was focused on sneaking around and killing people in the most efficient way possible.

  "You mean other than becoming Elysia's Mafia boss…or the boss's bodyguard?" she asked sarcastically. "Um, you don't happen to need a bodyguard, do you, Mr. Sigurdsson?"

  As if she'd last more than five minutes against either a bear shifter or a pack of wolf shifters in a serious throw down.

  Both Hal and Yummy Cowboy laughed. "Call me Hal," said the big man.

  Yummy Cowboy—she'd have to remember to call him Brett to his face—released her hands at last, and she found herself missing his touch almost immediately.

  That's a bad sign, she thought, then pushed it away to concentrate on the matter at hand.

  "Call me Catrina. And I'll take the job—both of the jobs," she clarified, just in case Hal thought she didn't want the paramedic job. And she did want it. Badly. "And…thank you."

  "Good," Hal said crisply. "First thing, I'd like you to focus on teaching the wolf shifters to improve their pistol skills." He paused and heaved a long-suffering sigh. "They're old-timers, and their skills are…lacking. According to Erik Redclaw, Perry used Wolf Team primarily for reconnaissance and abductions, and in close quarters combat, they were able to get by mostly using swords and knives because those are quiet."

  "Plus, they're idiots and several of them have already managed to shoot themselves—and each other," Brett said in disgust. "Hal confiscated all their handguns last month, but we'll need all the warriors we have if WSS decides to invade. So that's where you come in."

  "I'll tell Erik to send some of his men over to the training grounds tomorrow afternoon for their first lesson," Hal said.

  Catrina nodded. "Okay. I'll be there."

  She wondered how much she should tell Hal about WSS's interest in Dr. Liam Donlon, and decided to sleep on it.

  Instead, she remarked, "Wolf Team disappeared in this area a few months ago, and now me. Someone else fro
m WSS is probably going to come looking for us."

  "Yeah. We're expecting that," Yummy Cowboy said, and his voice was suddenly hard.

  "We thought that you might have been sent here for that reason," Shannon said. "Does WSS know we're here?"

  Catrina felt a twinge of alarm. She shook her head and countered with a partial truth: "I came out this way to follow up with Wolf Team. It was guesswork as to where they might have gone, based on their last known position out from the plane crash site."

  "Eric Redclaw needs to know WSS is searching for him and the others," Hal said, and the others nodded.

  He turned back to Catrina.

  "We ask our newcomers to serve thrice three years in return for their initial food, shelter, and identity documents."

  Catrina frowned at the odd phrasing. Hal must be one of the really old shifters. "All right," she answered after a moment. "Nine years' enlistment is a better term than WSS offers."

  "You'll get only a quarter of WSS's pay, though. If you're lucky," Yummy Cowboy said with an ironic laugh.

  "Catrina will stay with you during her probation period," Hal said to Brett. It was not a question.

  Brett didn't seem to mind, though. "Of course." He turned to Catrina. "I have several guest rooms in my house—take your pick. No one's staying there at the moment, since hunting season is mostly over."

  "Thanks," Catrina said warily. She suppressed her jaguar's surge of excited interest at the news. All alone with the Yummy Cowboy!"That's really nice of you."

  "Just doing my duty as your sponsor," he assured her.

  "But first," announced Shannon, "you're all coming home with me for showers and clean clothes. And dinner—" she checked her watch "—which should be ready shortly." She smiled at Catrina.

  "Rafe mentioned that there might be enchiladas tonight," added Brett. He grinned at Catrina, obviously trying to put her at ease. "I'm biased, because any meal I don't have to cook counts as a good meal in my opinion, but Rafe really is a great cook."

  "That sounds great," Catrina said, wondering how enchiladas made by some guy living in the middle of Idaho would hold up against her abuelita's cooking. The taste of her grandmother's food was one of the few vivid memories left to Catrina of her life before she had joined—or been forced to join—WSS."Much better than the MREs that I'm used to. And I would kill for a cold Coke. Perry banned all sodas at WSS headquarters, for some bizarre reasons."

  Brett laughed and offered his arms to first to Shannon and then to Catrina with mock gallantry.

  "I'm sure Rafe has Cokes in his fridge. Come on, then, ladies. It's not a long walk to the house, and Rafe gets cranky when we're late to dinner."

  "It's a date," Catrina told them. "I'm starving."

  Chapter 4 – Fed

  Shannon's home was big but not pretentious, a rambling, two-story Victorian house that had begun life sometime around the turn of the previous century and had been expanded and added to several times over the intervening decades.

  A big golden-haired man opened the front door as they walked up a gravel path between raised beds planted with flowers and herbs, nearly all frost-killed by now.

  He greeted Shannon on the porch with a kiss, which the healer returned enthusiastically.

  So that's Rafe Magnusson, huh? Catrina studied Shannon's husband with interest.

  Rafe was another big blond guy, as tall as Brett, Leif, and Svein, but not quite as big as Hal, who truly was a giant.

  Like the other bear shifters she'd met so far, Rafe was built like a linebacker, with wide shoulders and a broad chest. He wore his golden shoulder-length hair gathered into a low ponytail at the nape of his neck, and he had a short, dark blond beard. His skin was tanned the deep golden brown of a man used to spending all day outdoors, and his eyes were the blue-gray color of a stormy sea.

  Based on a sample size of three, Catrina thought wryly, the bear shifters seemed to run to big blond Viking types.

  A wave of mouth-watering scents of chili, garlic, oregano, and cumin drifted out into the gray twilight, and Catrina was instantly transported back to her childhood in Los Angeles and to Sunday family dinners at her abuelita's house.

  The memory was vivid, one of the few left to her of her life before she joined WSS. She felt sudden tears prickling her eyes and turned her face away, fighting for control.

  His arm still around Shannon's shoulders, Rafe greeted Brett with a clap on the shoulder.

  "I see you've brought a guest," Rafe said, with a curious but not unfriendly look at Catrina.

  She fought the urge to wipe at her eyes.

  "This is Catrina Hunter, lately of WSS," Brett announced. "She asked for sanctuary, and I agreed to sponsor her."

  "A cat shifter?" Rafe asked, his nostrils flaring slightly as he caught Catrina's scent. He added, with the same disbelief Hal had shown earlier, “Don’t tell me that she's a Beast Warrior? A woman?"

  Catrina kept a polite smile on her face and fought the urge to roll her eyes. In her years with WSS, she had encountered this attitude a lot from the older shifters.

  Then Brett surprised her. "Perry may be an evil son of a bitch, but he's always had a gift for picking the best personnel."

  She felt his hand on her shoulder and felt unexpectedly warmed by Yummy Cowboy's support. If she wasn't careful, she'd find herself falling for him.

  Rafe grunted. "Just like his mother, in that respect, at least. After all, she recruited Hal, didn't she?" He nodded in Catrina's direction. "Welcome to my home, Catrina," he said, with old-fashioned formality. "Please come in and join us for supper."

  She hesitated, aware of her mud-covered pants and shirt, which had only grown colder and clammier on the twenty-minute walk from the training grounds to the house.

  "I'm kind of a mess right now," she said apologetically.

  "Not to worry," Shannon assured her. "We've a bit of time before supper, and a guest suite with a full bathroom upstairs that you're welcome to use. I'll dig up a robe or a clean tracksuit for you, and put your clothes—and Brett's, too," she shot a wry glance at Yummy Cowboy, "in the wash while we're eating."

  "I'll use the downstairs shower," Brett said amiably, "and if I can borrow some sweats from Rafe, I'd appreciate it."

  Following Yummy Cowboy's lead, Catrina unlaced her mud-encrusted boots and removed them before entering the house, leaving them standing next to Brett's boots on the porch.

  Then she tailed the others into the foyer and into a cloud of fragrant cooking smells. Her stomach growled at the delicious odors, and she hoped against hope that her companion's keen shifter hearing wouldn't catch it.

  In the foyer, a wide wooden staircase rose on her right. Ahead of her was a short hallway. A wide doorway opened up to an old fashioned living room with a large bay window on the left side of the hall, the furnishings simple but comfortable, the walls covered with old photographs, antique weapons, and hunting trophies.

  A matching doorway across the hallway led to a home office with a large Victorian mahogany desk that held a computer and a large flat-panel display.

  At the end of the hallway, Catrina glimpsed a large, brightly lit breakfast nook. The kitchen must be back there, too, because that was where all those delicious smells were coming from.

  "This way," Shannon said, when Catrina began to follow the bear shifters down the hall.

  She led Catrina upstairs. A long hallway ran the length of the house, lined with doors, and each door had a number, like a motel.

  Shannon noticed Catrina's puzzled look.

  "This ranch house also serves as a successful inn, mostly for hunting and fishing guests," she explained. "Hunting season is over, so things should be very peaceful until the salmon run begins in the spring." She flashed Catrina a smile. "Rafe tells me that we can expect a fair amount of snow next month—I'm looking forward to it. I come from a little island off the southwestern coast of Ireland, and snowfall that lasts more than a day is an unusual thing."

  Catrina laughed. "Hey, I g
rew up in LA," she said. "You should see the panic when it rains. The news stations run special 'Storm Watch' broadcasts, and everything. I think the city would probably have to shut down and call in the National Guard if it ever actually snowed."

  Shannon snorted. "And for us Irish, the newscasters begin to panic if it doesn't rain for a few days!"

  With a pang, Catrina wished she could remember if her parents had ever driven up to Big Bear to play in the snow. She had spent plenty of time in snowy climates while working for WSS, but those times had mostly been cold and miserable and a lot of extra work rather than fun.

  Shannon opened the door closest to her to reveal a comfortably furnished bedroom with an attached bathroom.

  Stepping inside, Catrina automatically noted possible exit routes. Three, including the door, the bedroom window, and—if she shape-shifted and managed to squeeze through it—the small window located high on the bathroom wall.

  "Go ahead now and hop in the shower," Shannon urged her. "There are plastic bags for your laundry in the bathroom—you can bring your dirty clothes downstairs when you're done, and I'll start the washing machine. I'll leave now and fetch you some nice fluffy towels and something to wear, if you don't mind wearing men's sizes. Rafe keeps plenty of extra tracksuits at hand…shapeshifters, you know," she said wryly.

  "Thanks," Catrina said with genuine gratitude. "That would be great."

  She was already looking forward to hot water. She'd been expecting to rough it on this mission.

  As Shannon bustled out of the room, Catrina took a deep breath, finding herself alone with her thoughts for the first time since her mission had gone to hell.

  For the first time that she could remember, she was going to bail on a mission.

  And had she really just agreed to throw away her post-military career in favor of a bunch of a shifters she had only just met?

  Just how sure was she that Hal and the Yummy Cowboy had been telling the truth about her memory issues?

  Her gut instinct was to believe them. Everything they had told her about Perry and his possible motives had rung horribly true.