Alpha's Prey: A BBW Bear Shifter Romance

by Renee Rose

  “Mmhmm,” Caleb removes his hand but not his arm. I settle back and gulp my drink. Screw Trivial Pursuit. I’ll play any game with Caleb, as long as he makes the rules.

  I win the prize, a plaque that says “Purveyor of Useless Knowledge.” Joe himself, the proprietor, comes out to award it to me. I pick at the logo for Joes’ Bar, sighing over the apostrophe placement until Joe leans in and lets me know: “I heard you earlier and yes, it’s Joes’, plural.” I squint at him and he continues, “He was an army bud. Died in the war. We always talked about when we got out, we’d open a bar together. So the apostrophe is in the right place.” He pauses. “Not that anyone gets the reference.”

  I give Joe a hug and turn to Caleb and bug my eyes out.

  “A group of owls is called a parliament. A group of seagulls is called a squabble. A group of sharks is called a shiver,” I chant, my boots propped on Caleb’s truck dash.

  Caleb parks, comes around to my door and helps me out.

  “A group of tigers is an ambush or streak.” My feet hit the ground and Caleb lifts me in his arms. I hook one of my around his neck and inform him, “A group of parrots is panda… pando…” I smack my lips and try again, “Pandemonium.”

  “You drunk?”

  “Maybe. Sorta. A group of wombats is called a wisdom.”

  “You’re so fucking smart,” he tells me and tosses me on the bed.

  “You think I’m smart,” I murmur happily. I watch as his coat, shirt and boots hit the floor and then he’s on me.

  “I know you are.” He unzips my coat, vest and peels them both off. “You don’t know you’re smart?”

  “I do,” I assure him as he pulls my shirt up. “It’s just easy to forget when my colleagues talk down to me.”

  “They’re idiots,” Caleb says in his macho man way before stripping my shirt over my head. “Miranda, you gotta know, you’re smart and kind and beautiful. Fuck.” He cups my cheek and just looks at me. Under his gaze, I try not to squirm. “So fucking beautiful.”

  “Caleb,” I whisper, and he lowers himself on top of me. His beard brushes my neck, planting delicious, scratchy kisses down to my collarbone. “Caleb,” my whisper turns into a moan, and I wriggle under him as his lips nuzzle the tops of my breasts. He tugs my bra down with his teeth and leans back to take me in. The look in his eyes is everything. I could orgasm right now, just from him looking at me. He sees me. He gets me. He cares. He always has, right from the start.

  It’s scary.

  I turn my face away. “A group of porcupines is called a prickle.”

  “Miranda,” he calls. His fingers, gentle on my jaw, turn my face back to him. “Is there something you want to say to me?”

  Yes. I bite my lip so I don’t blurt out, I know this is temporary, but I’m falling for you.

  “Miranda?”

  “A group of rhinos is called a crash,” I whisper, and tighten my arms around his neck as he slides inside me. I suck in a breath. His hand cups my breasts, thumb teasing my nipple. My inner muscles tighten around him as he moves, surging deeper and deeper, hitching my leg up so he can hit places inside I’ve never felt before. I close my eyes, hurtling towards orgasm, mind going white. Caleb’s cock hits the spot and my thoughts blank so I don’t have to face the truth: This isn’t forever. It’s gonna end.

  But not yet. Not tonight.

  Chapter 13

  Miranda

  I feel like glass about to shatter. Everything is strange and out-of-body. Waking up with Caleb. Eating breakfast. Putting my things in the back of the Subaru.

  Everything this morning has turned to ash in my mouth.

  I’m leaving. Saying goodbye and driving away from Pecos.

  From Caleb.

  And I want to make some kind of plan—give him my number and ask him to call. Or tell him to come visit me in Albuquerque, but we both know none of those things will happen.

  He belongs up here and I have my own life. Besides, we’re not in a relationship. We had sex.

  A lot.

  We had a lot of sex.

  That doesn’t mean we’re a couple. It doesn’t mean we made commitments or promises.

  It doesn’t mean we have a future.

  “Well.” I stand beside my car, the door open, Bear already inside, waiting with wagging tail.

  “All right. Drive safe.” Caleb’s not looking me in the eye.

  “Thanks for everything.” I try opening my arms, like we’re going to do a friendly hug.

  Caleb doesn’t move. His dark gaze pins me in place, the glower on his face stops any more meaningless words from tumbling out of my mouth.

  “I care about you, Miranda,” he says.

  I stop breathing.

  “I don’t like the idea of you being pushed around by those scientists.”

  Oh.

  We’re back here again. Where we started four days ago in his cabin.

  “I can take care of myself,” I mutter, trying to shake off the disappointment.

  “You’d better.” He says it like a warning. Grumpy mountain man is back in full force this morning.

  “If you’re ever in Albuquerque—”

  “I won’t be,” he cuts me off.

  “Right. Okay. Well, I’m there. And, um, you’ll be here.” I don’t mention that I may have to come back for more research. It feels like it would be fishing for something that he doesn’t want to give me.

  I step toward him and go onto my tiptoes to give him a peck on the cheek.

  He doesn’t move. Just stands like a statue. Like my kiss froze him.

  “Goodbye,” I whisper.

  Because it really is a goodbye. Not a see you later, or until we meet again.

  He says nothing.

  My stomach is as hard as stone, I get in the Subaru and start it up. I don’t start crying until I’ve turned the first bend.

  And then I totally break down.

  Caleb

  I watch Miranda’s Subaru disappear down the forest road and my bear roars in anguish.

  Don’t let her go.

  Do not let her go.

  But I have to. What choice do I have? She doesn’t belong with me. I have nothing to offer that woman. I am a broken man, low on cash, lower on ambition. I’ve been broken by grief and my brain addled by my animal. Even without all that, I’m a shifter and she’s human. We shouldn’t mix.

  I get into my truck and drive back to my cabin. All the while, my bear’s going nuts. Trying to take control. Roaring beneath my skin.

  Let her go, bear. We can’t have her.

  She’s not for us.

  Miranda

  It didn’t mean anything. Or maybe it didn’t mean enough.

  I wasn’t enough to distract Caleb from his grief.

  From his loss.

  And even though I made it all about sex, he wormed his way into my heart. Because I am driving away with that organ smashed to smithereens. Pieces of it left all over that mountain.

  I’m just past the town of Pecos when a man steps out in front of the car, waving his arms like he needs help.

  I brake and come to stop, then roll my window down. “Yes?”

  Bear goes nuts, barking from the back seat, but before I can heed the warning, the guy’s hand shoots through the open window so fast I barely see it coming. He stabs my neck with something sharp.

  I stare up at him, horror flushing out the grief.

  Caleb was right all along. There was a killer stalking me as his prey.

  And now he’s got me.

  I slump over the steering wheel as everything goes black.

  When I wake up, I’m in my panties and tank top in a cage. It’s a large, wire cage, like a big dog kennel in a dimly lit room that smells dank and earthy. Like we’re in a cellar. Fear shoots through me and brings me out of my drugged haze as I remember what happened. I try to sit up and bang my head on the top of my prison.

  I groan and blink my eyes, trying to get my surroundings as my brain struggles to catch up
.

  That’s when I realize I’m not alone. There’s a cage beside mine and—oh my God—there’s another woman in it. She’s thin and pale. Her blonde hair’s a matted mess. She puts a finger to her lips in warning.

  Fresh fear pumps through my veins, but my rational side is encouraged. I’m not alone. And if this woman’s here, too, that means immediate death is probably not in my future. Because I’m guessing she’s one of the missing hikers.

  I peer into the dimly lit room and spy another cage, and another. Eight in total. Two more are occupied, also by young women. So these could be all three of the missing women.

  And I just became number four.

  That thought sinks like a stone, but then it’s followed by hope.

  Caleb will find me.

  I try to shove that Disney princess hope away, because Caleb isn’t looking for me. He thinks I drove away to Albuquerque, and even though I gave him my phone number before I left, we had no plans to communicate.

  It’s not like he’ll call the cops if I don’t text I got home safely.

  No one will.

  It will be days—maybe over a week—before someone realizes something’s gone wrong. The guys at the lab and my friends will just think I’m still up here doing research. I didn’t tell anyone I was headed down the mountain today.

  I peer into the cage beside mine again.

  Again, the woman puts her finger to her lips and shakes her head. “Quiet,” she mouths.

  Shivers run down my spine, but I nod my understanding.

  I have to trust my fellow prisoner in this situation. She’s been here longer than I have.

  Nothing happens for a long time. I catalogue a million questions to ask these women when—if—I get a chance.

  Finally, a door opens, bringing a shaft of light into the room, and the man who flagged me down on the road comes in. He’s wearing a white lab coat.

  “Ah, our newest subject is awake,” he says in one of those falsely cheerful voices. “Time to start testing.”

  I shoot a glance at the woman next to me, and the dread on her face confirms I’m not going to like this.

  My captor opens the cage. “Tell me, what were you doing with the bear?”

  I’m certain then, without a doubt, this is the man who murdered Caleb’s wife and child.

  He grabs my arm and jams a needle into me, injecting me again. This time I don’t pass out, but my muscles go slack. I can’t move my limbs or even hold up my head.

  The man wheels a gurney over to the cage and yanks me out by the arm. I can’t feel where he grips me, but it occurs to me he must be inhumanly strong, because he handles my dead weight with ease.

  Refusing to play helpless victim, I use the only weapon available to me at the moment—my mind and my tongue. “You’re the bear,” I accuse him.

  He freezes, eyes turning amber. As I watch in horror, he transforms. Or half-transforms. His face changes to bear—a snout grows where his nose was, vicious teeth stab down. His hands become giant paws, too—giant paws with killer claws. Some fur sprouts, too, but only in patches. He doesn’t fully shape-shift. He’s stuck somewhere in the middle: half-man, half-bear.

  One of the other women in the cages screams, telling me she either hasn’t seen this side of her captor before, or it’s something to fear.

  The guy goes nuts, slashing his claws through the air, knocking over a table and chair. He throws the gurney I’m on and my body slumps to the floor. It’s probably a blessing I have no muscle control because the softness of my body makes my landing easier.

  He tosses the cages around the room. The women in them scream. He continues on his rampage, tearing everything down, smashing lab equipment—decanters and test tubes and vials.

  It seems to last forever. When there’s nothing left to smash, he runs from the room, coughing and wheezing between roars.

  I hear another door slam and then one of the women speaks. “Holy shit. What the hell was that?”

  “A shape-shifter experiment gone wrong,” I answer.

  “A what?” This shaky query comes from another cage.

  “This guy was a test subject of a government research project gone wrong. I’m guessing it made him insane as well as a monster.”

  “Oh lordy,” the first women says. “That makes sense.”

  “Why?”

  “He calls this cellar the lab. He thinks he’s doing experiments on us, but they don’t add up. He takes blood and shakes it up in little vials with food coloring and water. He tortures us and says it’s pain tolerance tests. While we’re screaming, he yells at us to shift. We had no freaking clue what he wanted or is trying to do. Only that he’s fuck-nuts crazy.”

  I struggle to move, but my body still won’t obey my brain. “I have to get us out of here,” I mutter, my lips and tongue turning as numb as the rest of me.

  “Yeah, good luck with that. You won’t be moving for another six hours at the least.”

  “My name is Miranda,” I tell them. “And we’re going to get out of here.”

  “You sound pretty sure of that, Miranda,” one of them says drily. “But it doesn’t look to me like your plan is working so far. I’m Julia.”

  “I’m Rachel.”

  “I’m Tracy.”

  “I would say nice to meet you, but the circumstances are shit,” I say. I’m slurring a little from the muscle relaxant. “There are Missing Person posters for all three of you all over New Mexico. You haven’t been forgotten.”

  “Are you a cop or something?” one of them—Tracy, I think—asks.

  “No. I’m an ecologist. But I met a man this week who was trying to solve your cases. He thinks this guy killed his wife and kid.”

  Caleb.

  Thinking of never seeing him again makes my chest go corset-tight.

  I can’t count on him finding us. We said goodbye and he has no reason to suspect I’m not safely at home by now, curled up with my dog.

  Bear!

  “Have any of you seen or heard my dog?”

  My heart pounds, thinking of how Bear went in that river. What if it wasn’t an accident, and my captor threw him in? What if he’s done something horrible to Bear?

  “No.” Each of them answers.

  I hear a door open and the three other prisoners all make hushing sounds. I shut my mouth and heed their warning. Making the crazy man mad isn’t going to be my best plan.

  I need to get my brain working on a plan to get us out of here. Because staying trapped here forever as a crazy man’s test subject is not an option.

  Caleb

  Everything in my cabin looks wrong.

  Feels wrong.

  It’s been two days since Miranda left, and it’s impossible to return to my old ways. I’ve changed.

  She changed me.

  The cabin seems empty without her. And strangely, it no longer feels like a memorial for Jen and Gretchen. Not that their memories have been erased. No, if anything, I feel more honoring of them. More determined to track down their killer and get closure. But I also get that it’s time to start living again.

  Holing up here alone, making myself a hermit, doesn’t feel right any more.

  I want more.

  Need more.

  Fuck, I miss Miranda. I miss the hell out of her, actually.

  I look at my cell phone, where I stored her number. Of course, I can’t get service from my cabin. But maybe it’s worth driving into town. I can see if Parker called and send Miranda a text.

  Or call her.

  I need to let her know that I want to pursue something more.

  Us.

  I want to pursue us. I thought my heart couldn’t hold another person. That loving someone else would be a betrayal to my dead mate.

  What I didn’t realize was that my heart had already made room for another. And I let that person drive away without me telling her. I was an idiot, but it might not be too late to fix this.

  Some of the heaviness in my chest lightens.

&n
bsp; I stand up from the couch, shove my phone in my pocket and head for the door.

  And that’s when I hear the whine.

  It’s coming from right outside my door and—

  I throw open the door and drop to my haunches. “Bear!”

  Miranda’s dog sits and barks at me. What is he doing here?

  I peer outside, but there’s no sign of Miranda’s Subaru. She didn’t drive back here.

  “Come here, boy.” I reach out to pet the dog, but he backs away and barks some more. I scent his blood—not fresh. He’s limping slightly. He doesn’t come in, even though he looks half frozen. No, he’s telling me something.

  Oh fuck.

  What’s happened to Miranda now?

  Except I already know.

  I know with the certain dread that makes all my hairs stand on end. I know with the agony of a dagger through the heart.

  Please don’t let her be dead.

  Please not like Jen.

  A cold band squeezes around my chest as I grab my jacket and jog outside. “Where is she, boy? Show me where.”

  Bear takes off running and I realize we won’t be going in my truck.

  “Hold up, dog.” I whistle and Bear comes back and barks again.

  “Thirty seconds,” I tell him, even though he can’t understand me. He’ll get the gist. I dash inside and strip off my clothes, then step outside, pull the door shut and shift.

  Bear whines, but takes off again and I lope beside him as we run for miles down the side of the mountain.

  When I catch the mutant shifter scent, I want to heave. I growl the whole time we run, a low, angry rumble that keeps me focused. As the scent grows stronger, the fur on my nape stands on end. And then I see it—Miranda’s Subaru down in a ditch, a few hundred yards from the road to Santa Fe.

  Fuck.

  Bear goes crazy, barking and running around the car.

  Shit. He doesn’t know where she is. This must be the last place he saw her. I need to figure this out on my own.

  I lift my nose in the air to find her scent. It’s mingled with the mutant bear’s scent, but I catch it. I follow it downhill another mile or so until we get to a cabin.