by Fel Fern
“What do you mean?” Bo asked, confused.
“I’m not a made shifter. My family is old blood. We’re all naturally born superior beings.”
What kind of logical is that? An animal who can’t control itself certainly isn’t superior in my book. Bo didn’t tell Royce those words out loud though.
“So this must be standard procedure for you. You know, tying up your food, and making sure they don’t get away—boring stuff.”
Royce narrowed his eyes. Bo swallowed when he caught sight of Royce’s left hand blurring, turning to a partially shifted claw. He knew enough that shifters who possessed that rare ability to shift certain body parts existed on the higher end of the pack hierarchy.
Bo was only a puny human. Royce would have no trouble taking him down. Still, had to try, had to fight. Bo refused to go out like some pathetic mewling prey.
He tried to stifle his scream when Bo pressed the tip of his sharp claws against his ribs, the simple gesture drawing pinpricks of blood. Royce mentioned his family had been hunting human prey for centuries. Bo didn’t doubt by now, Royce had mastered the art of torturing and playing with his victims.
“I think what you want is a challenge,” Bo quickly said.
Royce let out a rumbling laugh. In the harsh light, the sharp features Bo fell for turned grotesque. Ugly. How could Bo never see this side of Royce? Had he really been so desperate for any company he’d accept a monster into his life?
“Don’t dictate orders to me, little human.”
“I’m not.” Bo let out a breath, and looked Royce in the eye. “I want to live, and you want a challenge. Let me go. I’ll give you a chase to remember.”
Jesus. He was fucking crazy for suggesting this, but self-preservation made men do desperate things. Bo winced, readying himself for Royce’s rejection. Royce didn’t laugh, didn’t tell him to go fuck himself.
Seconds stretched on to minutes. Royce’s stillness and the way he simply watched Bo like a hawk, or a hungry bear, didn’t help his frayed nerves.
Royce finally walked over to the headboard and freed Bo from his restrains. Bo’s lungs struggled to pump for air. With his hands free, Bo pulled himself back from leaping at Royce and strangling him to death. If it were only that easy. Resorting to something that foolish might only result in his early demise, and Bo very much liked to live, thank you very much.
Once his legs were freed, Bo tentatively slid out of bed. He kept his back pressed against the wall, his gaze solely fixated on the shifter that wanted to have him for dinner. Literally. Royce let out a malicious chuckle. Bones popped, fur began to appear on his arms and Bo could make out the inhuman shifting of Royce’s face. His heart stopped.
Royce’s voice came out more animal than human. “What are you waiting for? Run, little human. I’ll even give you a head start.”
Bo didn’t need to be told twice. He ran—barefoot, naked, and with no way to defend himself. The last thought took root. Passing by the roughly hewn kitchen, Bo remembered to pick up a frying pan, before he darted out the front door. Woods as far as his eye could see, and the hard dirt bit into the soles of his feet. Worse, out there, only the moon and stars provided illumination.
Overwhelmed, Bo couldn’t take another step. Earlier, he complained about the heat of the day, but night had fallen. A breeze tickled his bare flesh, making him shiver.
“What are the damn chances of my life turning out to be a horror movie scene?” he muttered under his breath.
Bo could almost hear his mother’s voice in his head, telling him he had been asking for it. If Bo had dated a normal human guy, none of this would’ve happened. He’d seen the signs of Royce’s instability hadn’t he? Refused to acknowledge that his boyfriend—scratch that, ex-boyfriend, was a psychopath who hunted humans for sport.
Royce’s eager and ear-shattering growl startled Bo back to the task at hand. If he wanted to live, then he had to mentally steel himself. Believe he could live through this nightmare despite the odds, and the unfairness of the rigged game. He forced his body to move, and urged his feet to run faster. The even dirt road under him turned uneven, occasionally soft, or rocky.
He would have liked to believe he flew past trees, but he’d never taken a step into the woods until that day. Worse, night cast the woods into an unsavory light. Bo jumped at every sound and shadow. Roots and rocks bit at his feet, occasionally drawing blood. Bo fell flat on his face once or twice, but he told himself nothing was broken.
“Get up. Run if you want to live,” Bo hissed at himself each time.
The mantra worked, although he started to wonder why he wanted so badly to live. If Royce was out of his life, what awaited him back home if he did live? Endless work, an empty apartment, and a non-existent social life—sounded peachy. Valid reasons to want to live.
God. He was pathetic. Bo swore if he did survive, he’d do a complete 360-degree turn. Maybe take a long sabbatical from work and start travelling. See things in a different perspective.
Royce occasionally let out a bellow a couple of feet behind him, but Bo knew his ex-lover was taunting him, reminding Bo he was playing with him. If Royce really got serious, Bo stood no chance. Bears weren’t fast runners as far as he knew, but Royce would eventually outlast him.
He didn’t know which way to go. Bo kept on going uphill, and he wondered if he was going in the right direction. Well as long as it got him far away as possible from Royce.
At this rate, his unhealthy heart would give out on him. Bo collapsed against an ancient oak tree, panting. His hand dangled against his side, still clutching at the frying pan. It would be useless in a fight, but Bo couldn’t let it go.
“Am I going in circles?” He leaned his head against the wood tiredly. Bo tried looking at the stars to guide him, but like anything related to the great outdoors, he knew nothing about constellations.
Bo couldn’t move. All his muscles ached and not to mention his dirt and blood covered feet. He blinked, staring. Did he imagine the lights ahead of him? Hope sparked inside of him. Bo squinted. Beyond the crown of trees, could he make out a roof? A cabin? Did someone else live out here, or was he slowly going insane and imagining things?
“Help,” Bo croaked. Useless. He was too far. Still, it couldn’t hurt to try. Bo forced himself back to his feet. In the distance, he heard a frustrated snarl. Royce was making a lot of noise, which only meant he had enough of games.
Clutching his pan to his chest, Bo sprinted again, gaining momentum. He tried pitching his voice louder until his vocal chords turned hoarse. Surely, the guy living in the cabin would take pity on him. That or Bo’s situation just went from bad to worse.
Chapter Three
Garret Marks took a long satisfying pull of his cold beer and sighed. “Nothing like a drink at the end of a hard day.”
He added a couple of wood to his blazing fireplace, before settling back in his comfy and well-worn couch. Most of Garret’s pack members often remarked he acted like a middle-aged retiree hunter who shunned human company as opposed to a man, a healthy werewolf, in his late twenties.
Garret knew the wolves of the Darkfall Mountain pack meant well. He still considered them the only family that mattered, but he had stopped bothering explaining to them that his life was perfect.
He'd do anything for them, but they'd never understand. Garret was considered the oddball, the lone wolf who associated himself with the pack and occasionally came to meetings, but he preferred being alone in his cabin in the woods.
Life was a lot simpler, and richer if he lived lean and simple. Some of them whispered the loss of Garret's mate had pushed him to choose a secluded existence, but that was bullshit.
He was about to turn on the radio—the only human technological innovation he kept, but he paused. If he were in his second form, his ears would’ve twitched. Even Garret’s spiritual wolf stood at attention, suddenly alert. Garret thought he imagined the sound, but there was it again—the shuffle of feet on earth.
&nb
sp; Garret rose from his seat, and slowly crept to the front door without making a sound. Garret debated whether he should shift, but that would take precious seconds he might need. Instead, Garret took his hunting rifle. Might be just of the wolves pulling a prank or asking him for a favor, but he doubted it. The pack often patrolled the woods, and some of them would stop by his cabin for a drink, but that wasn’t until later and they always came on time.
He sniffed, scenting a lungful of fear, hurt and blood. All that riot of emotions rankled his wolf and stirred the beast from its sleep.
Garret reined in his temper. He firmly believed in the policy of minding his own business. For God’s sake, he chose to live up here to escape the troubles of the real world, be it pack business, shifter or human politics. Growling, he yanked open the door, ready to turn out the outsider on his land. Maybe he ought to scare off the unlucky bastard, show some fangs and claws, but Garret hadn’t been prepared for the naked and injured human male running straight for him.
“You…help!” the maniac rasped, waving around what looked like—was that a frying pan?
“Get the hell out. This is private property,” Garret said with a snarl. Usually, the sight of his massive hulking figure wielding a shotgun scared off most idiots, but apparently not this fool.
“Please,” the dark-haired human pleaded. He kept on coming, stumbling toward Garret like he didn’t understand the word no.
Garret pulled the trigger, aiming at nothing. The human jerked, eyes wild, almost bloodshot. He halted, nearly swaying on his feet. Then he looked back over his shoulder, face white with fear, before turning his attention back to Garret. Garret must have looked like a safer option, because the stranger resumed running toward him. What the fuck?
“I said you’re not welcome here.” Garret glowered. The human collapsed at his feet, and boldly clutched at one of his legs. He froze when Garret pointed the barrel at his head. “Are you deaf?”
“Please. Help me, sir.”
Sir? Garret wanted to kick this fool back to the hole he crawled from, except his beast disagreed with his human half. The wolf fastened his attention on the human, forcing Garret to take a closer look. The stranger smelled of sweat, blood, and hurt. Looked badly banged up, and Garret noticed his feet were bleeding. What the hell happened? For that matter, why should he give a damn?
Garret’s nostrils flared. His breaths came out uneven. Without comprehending why, he lowered his gun. Used his free hand to sink his fingers into the human’s disheveled dark hair, woven with leaves and twigs, and tugged it up so Garret could see his face.
The stranger let out a surprised cry, the sound combined with the visual he presented, made Garret’s cock perk in his jeans. Seeing another man, nude, on his knees, offering himself up for Garret’s use was an image he’d welcome any other time. This was fucked-up though, the way this man stirred the baser and primitive emotions inside him.
Garret couldn’t remember the last time anyone held his interest. He’d probably fucked his way through the willing gay men in the pack. Tried a couple of other supernaturals, but humans had never interested him until now. He didn’t know whether he wanted to fuck the man in front of him, or protect him from anything that promised him harm.
Why this human, and why now of all times?
The man’s eyes grew wide. He swallowed, and the movement drew Garret’s gaze to the tempting line of his golden throat. To the perfect spot where Garret could sink his canines in and—no fucking way Garret was pursuing that line of thought.
“Who are you?” The man whispered. He reached out with one hand, abandoning his beloved frying pan, to palm Garret’s knee, his thigh. Garret let out a guttural sound.
“What’s your name, human?” Garret asked, instead of telling him to get the fuck out.
“Bo Ramirez. You didn’t answer my question.”
Brave of Bo, Garret mused, to be able to stare down a large imposing dominant werewolf. He couldn’t decide if Bo had balls or if he was mental, that he’d decide to barge on Garret’s place.
“Garret Marks. What are you running from, little human?”
Bo’s face twisted in anger at the nickname. “It’s Bo, and for crying out loud, we can’t be doing this.”
“Doing this?” Garret prompted. His lip twitched as a growl of challenge sounded south of his cabin. Another shifter, but it wasn’t a familiar wolf call from his pack. Another outsider?
“Having a conversation while I’m running for my life? Just great,” Bo muttered.
Bo hadn’t gotten up. He remained kneeling, clutching at Garret’s leg like a lifeline. “My boyfriend—my ex took me up to the woods. We’re supposed to be celebrating our anniversary…but my mother was right. Shifters and humans can’t mix.”
Garret couldn’t completely make sense of Bo’s blubber, but he got the gist of the situation. He swore never to involve himself in a mess he wasn’t involved in, but it pissed the hell out of him this human happened to find a shifter who believed in old-school ways. It had been years since the big reveal and alliance between both communities, but some supernatural denizens still arrogantly believed they existed on top of the food chain.
“Are you going to help me or not?” Bo asked, clutching at Garret’s jeans.
Chapter Four
Jesus, were those wide brown eyes lethal. Bo reminded Garret of a puppy that needed protection. Usually, Garret didn’t give a fuck about others, especially outsiders who had no right lingering on pack land, but something about this human made him do the unthinkable. Garret tugged on Bo’s hair, used his other hand to grip his arm and lift him back to his feet. The gesture worsened the situation.
Now, Garret became aware of how Bo’s delicious lean sweat-slicked body rubbed against the fabric of his clothes despite the inappropriate situation. The way Garret’s erection visibly poked through his jeans, and Bo’s—well, the human’s cock pressed up against him, hard and long.
Garret grinned when Bo realized his reaction. Color flushed his neck and cheeks. Bo leaned in close, brushed his lips with Garret probably without understanding why. Garret banded his arm around Bo’s waist, pulled him close, and took his lips. Garret told himself he’d maybe break his rules a little, and help this human for a while. Scare off his crazy ex, before sending him on his way. That thought evaporated and all his pure intentions dissipated.
His wolf didn’t just want to tear the fucker who hurt their human to unrecognizable pieces. It wanted to take Bo under their protection, ride Bo, quench the heat emanating between their bodies, and claim him. Stay fucking calm. Don’t talk about the inconceivable.
Except Garret couldn’t think. His head spun when he caught the first taste of Bo. Bo kissed him back, clutching at his shoulders. Their teeth and tongues tangled, but Garret led the dance here. Bo yielded to his prodding tongue though, and his submission made their first kiss so much sweeter. Another howl, filled with fury, but also with impatience.
Garret wasn’t worried. A slight tug on the metaphysical bonds connecting his wolf to the rest of the pack told him two of his buddies were nearby. He parted from the human to pull his head back and let a howl tear out of his throat. Garret’s lupine brothers answered his call. Bo’s ex let out a pissed off snarl.
Three against one, bastard. What’s your next move?
His pack mates won’t be pleased by the turn of events, but Garret would worry about that later. For now, he needed their help.
Garret’s hearing caught the sound of breaking twigs and the sound of Bo’s ex faded to echoes. When Garret looked down, Bo looked at him, wide-eyed, mouth slightly open. While it was tempting to resume where they stopped before, Garret scented a mix of fear and anger on the human now. What the fuck? Didn’t Garret just save his life and risk his neck out for him?
“You’re a shifter,” Bo accused, pushing at him. Garret refused to let go, he tightened his grip. “Let me go, fucker.”
“Not until you explain yourself, human. You owe me that at least,” Garret
said coldly.
Bo let out a hiss. “It’s Bo, and if I didn’t let my boyfriend hunt me down and kill me, then you can’t have me for dinner either.”
Boy, did this guy sound hysterical. Garret reeled in his temper. The human must be in shock, after his blood-pumping run through the woods.
“Trust me. I’m not interested in eating you, not in the literal sense.”
Bo looked startled, and Garret had an impression the human got his intended meaning. Garret wondered how Bo would react if he pointed out both their erections hadn’t backed down.
“How can you expect me to trust you or any other shifter again?” Bo demanded.
“I don’t expect or want anything from you. Fuck. I’m not even interested in helping you in the first place. That’s the reason I live up here. To avoid humans.” Garret showed Bo a flash of the slightly sharpened rows of his canines. He must have convinced Bo he didn’t mean Bo harm, because Bo didn’t look impressed or scared. Garret ought to change that soon.
“But you did. Help me I mean, even though I was sure you’d shoot me.” Bo pointed out the obvious. “Why?”
“The fuck would I know. I’m as clueless as you, human.”
“Bo,” Bo corrected.
Except Garret did know, he just couldn’t admit the truth out loud.
There was only one reason why his wolf reacted that way, why his attraction to Bo would overcome all his hard-wired notions to keep out of anyone’s business but his own. All shifters came with the in-built software to be able to instantly identify their mate, the fated half they would spend all their lives with, the moment they came along. It sure couldn’t be this human though.
Garret’s wolf must have made a mistake, because Garret already found his mate. Brandon might be buried under an unmarked grave somewhere in the woods like he asked, but Brandon was his only mate.
Werewolves mated for life. They only got one chance, but Garret had his, and he screwed it up. On Brandon’s last day on earth, they had a massive fight. Garret drove while Brandon rode shotgun on the way to a pack meeting, except they started arguing. Brandon demanded Garret stop the car by the curb. He needed air, Brandon had said, before shifting.