Bear This Heat (A BBW Shifter Romance) (Last of the Shapeshifters)

by Grace, A. E.

  Because that would mean his travels had all been for naught.

  He unbuckled his jeans, and pulled them down his thick thighs. It was disappointing, to say the least. That the shapeshifter he’d been following, the only other one of his kind that he had ever caught the trail of, was responsible for this. Why had the wolf done this? What had this person been to the wolf?

  Dylan quieted his mind, told himself that it wasn’t certain this was the wolf’s doing, yet. But that was just him not wanting to believe it. He knew that. His instincts told him this was the wolf. Instincts told him that the shapeshifter he had been chasing all this time might not be the companion he sought. This would be no friend.

  And he was fairly certain, that should he ever find and meet the wolf, that it would offer him no answers.

  Dylan removed his briefs then, and folded them up and put them on top of his jeans and t-shirt on the floor beside him. Standing completely naked, he was a huge and hulking figure, lean and long, in the middle of the barebones living room of the poor person who had bled all over their bed.

  He crouched down, resting his elbows on the floor and putting his head in between them. Hair sprouted from his back, and his body jerked and jolted as it began to change, began to shift. Meat and muscle appeared from nowhere, and the slight stab of discomfort he felt was over in seconds.

  In the middle of the living room was a bear now, a great big beast, with beady eyes and a heart-shaped nose. The bear huffed the air, pointed its nose upward, and sniffed.

  Yes, Dylan thought. He could smell something. He followed the scent into the bedroom, and amidst the bitter smell of dried blood he was able to glean the odor of a canine. The wolf had been here. He was surer than ever of it.

  The great beast padded back outside, and Dylan was careful not to leave scratches on the creaking wooden floor. His claws could cleave a thick branch in two, never mind aging wooden floorboards that needed a new waxing.

  He shifted again, clumps of flesh and fur disappearing inward into his body. He felt that intense and potent pain again, blinked it away, and was back on his knees, head between his elbows, naked and sweating.

  The shift was always a little difficult for Dylan. He didn’t know why, but there was always some pain, always some discomfort. It also required a lot of effort, like flexing a poorly trained muscle. He began to get dressed, the implications of his olfactory discovery oppressive and heavy.

  He had definitely smelled canine, and it wasn’t the kind that a house pet leaves. There was something odd in the scent, something that his bear’s sense of smell hadn’t been able to process. But, even so, it was more than he had before. He sniffed the air again now, and wry smile visited his features when he couldn’t smell anything.

  The change was so addictive, so penetrating. Being a bear, having all that new information filtering into his brain, it was amazing. He could take from a mere strand of scent so much more information than he could ever put into words. The words simply didn’t exist for the knowledge he suddenly had access to as a bear. The hearing was different, too. Trained more toward the higher frequencies, as a bear he could always hear the ever-present whine of a light bulb, or the minute electrical squeal of coils within a simple clock-radio.

  And the strength, that was something wonderful. Despite being a strong man, nothing could compare to the sheer brute power of being a bear. And there was a confidence, an assuredness in that strength, too. Just as an animal in the wild would not underestimate itself when it came to exertion of power, Dylan found that he could not as a bear. The power was there, in every nerve, in every fiber of muscle. A wooden door stood no chance, and that knowledge was always, always present in his mind.

  The shift was like a drug, and Dylan found that the more time he spent as a bear, the less he wanted to spend as a man.

  As he pulled his t-shirt down over his body, he heard the sound of the front door opening. He waited and watched, to see who it was, but he already had an inkling.

  When the luscious D.I. Sasha Monroe appeared in his sights, her curvy body as enticing as ever, his suspicion was confirmed. He met her eyes, saw that her face was reddened with heat, and then his gaze traveled to her neck, slick with a glittering sheen of sweat. An urge hit him square in his center; a pang… a need.

  He growled at her his greeting through a grin. “Sasha, why am I not surprised to see you?”

  *

  “That’s all he asked about?” Sasha asked Sally Clark. The woman’s steaming cup of coffee had been spiked, and she wondered how much of the day the woman spent drunk. And how much of her testimony she could trust.

  “Yes, he just asked me what happened. Good-looking young man, isn’t he? He wasn’t here this morning, was he?”

  Sasha scratched her chin. “This morning?”

  “Yes. He said he was with the police department. Said he was here to clarify my, um, official statement.”

  “You haven’t made an official statement,” Sasha said, looking in the woman’s eyes. “And he isn’t with the police department.”

  “Are you sure?” Sally Cark asked, leaning to the side with a briefly-alarming wobbliness. “Because he was very persuasive.”

  “Was he?” Sasha asked, already turning to leave. “Wait, just one more thing.”

  “Yes?”

  “Did you recognize him?”

  She shook her head slowly. “Um, no.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes!”

  Sasha knew better than to outright ask if he looked like the jogger she’d seen that morning. At least, it was a leading question that could easily be picked apart in court, should it come to that. If it even got out that she had suggested it in the first place, even in an unofficial capacity… and Sasha knew she would only testify to the truth. She would own up to it.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Clark.”

  “Would you like to come in? I can make you a cup of coffee!”

  Sasha waved her hand at the woman. “No, thank you.”

  Approaching the police tape, she looked around again. There was nobody else outside. By this time in the afternoon, everybody was either already at home, or hadn’t left work yet. The kids would be home from school by now. The road was bare.

  She peered into the window of the house on the other side of old man Charlie’s, but didn’t see anybody in the window. Turning back toward Mrs. Clark’s house, she could see that the woman wasn’t at the window, either. Nobody was looking. Nobody was around.

  Sasha wondered if she should call for backup. Or at least have a uniform en-route. Or should she try to take Dylan in on her own? He had trespassed onto a crime scene, and that was enough to hold him for seventy two before she had to officially press charges.

  “Fuck it.” She wasn’t going to call in the cavalry on this one. This was going to be her arrest, and she was going to bring him in on her own. That would stick it to Superintendent O’Neill, as well as the other detectives.

  She dipped below the tape, unbuttoned her holster, and laid a palm against the side of her weapon. Moving slowly toward the front door, she half-crouched, the training she had received in the academy all flooding back into her mind.

  Thoughts of the meth-house bust spiked her consciousness. That had been a mess. But there had also been multiple armed suspects. Dylan was just one man, and the last time she had seen him, he had been unarmed. At least, she hadn’t seen a weapon…

  She tested the doorknob, found it unlocked, and then twisted it as silently as she could, peering into the crack of darkness. The shades had been drawn at every window in Charlie Kinnear’s house to stop the sun from spoiling any evidence, and they had never been opened since. He had no next of kin, and so nobody would clean the place up until the town reclaimed the land.

  Spotting nothing in the entrance hallway, she stepped inside, and the front door creaked loudly enough for her to stop dead, wincing. But she heard nothing, no sounds of movement, and so continued down the hallway until she came to the living ro
om.

  Standing in the center was Dylan, and he looked like he had just been putting on his shirt. He acknowledged her with a broad smile, before verbally addressing her.

  “Sasha, why am I not surprised to see you?”

  “I’m not surprised to see you, either.” She had her hand against her weapon, fingers outstretched. She turned her hip to the side to show him. “Don’t do anything.”

  “Like what?” he asked, and he looked down at his t-shirt and smoothed out a crease.

  “Like anything. What are you doing here?”

  “Come on, Sasha. You practically invited me here, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, and you’ve just incriminated yourself. Why would you, a tourist, someone sightseeing in our small little town, be interested in a crime scene?”

  Dylan only smirked at her, confident, smug, and Sasha felt a wave of irritation ripple through her.

  “What are you smiling about? This is trespassing onto a crime scene, you know. You can go away for that.”

  “Can I?” Dylan asked. “I don’t believe it.”

  “Believe what you want, Dylan.”

  The man dropped his shoulders a little, and leaned his weight on one leg. “Why don’t we talk? I’ll start: What happened here?”

  “No,” Sasha said, taking a step closer to him. “I’ll start: Why are you here?”

  “I already told you. I’m here because you told me to come here.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “You drop the name of a street, tell me something happened, and expect me not to come and check it out myself? After having two of your officers harass me in similar stances to the one you’re making now?” He nodded at her weapon. “Come on, Sasha. You laid a trap, and I chose to walk into it.”

  Sasha relaxed herself a bit, but kept her hand by her weapon. “Why? Why would you, an innocent bystander, walk into my trap? Something tells me you’re not coming clean with me. You’re related somehow, aren’t you?”

  She watched, annoyed, while he seemed to idly check his zipper and the button on his trousers before replying. “Maybe. As to your first question, I was curious.”

  “Why?”

  “Uh-uh,” he said, wagging a finger at her. “My turn to ask.”

  Sasha raised her voice. “A man was killed here this morning. So fuck turns. I’m police, so answer my questions. Why did you come here?”

  “I was curious.”

  “You already said that.”

  Dylan exhaled slowly. “Okay,” he said. He took a step toward her, and she glared at him, warning him not to come closer. “I am looking for someone. What time was he killed this morning?”

  “Four this morning, maybe a little later.”

  “Ah,” Dylan said, clucking his tongue. “Well, then I have an airtight alibi. This morning I checked into the Red Sand Motel, you know, first one you see driving into Salty Springs. I’m sure they have me on their security tapes.”

  “Oh?” Sasha sounded. She was angry with herself for not checking out Dylan’s name with the few places to stay in the area. “Where were you after you checked in?”

  “In bed.”

  “What time did you wake up?”

  He shook his head. “My turn. Who died?”

  “A man named Charlie Kinnear. Old, nearly a hundred, maybe, and harmless.”

  “Who would want to kill an old man?”

  “No,” Sasha said quickly. “My turn. Who are you looking for?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “That’s a crap answer. Give me more.”

  “I really don’t know. I’m looking for a person who may have a pet dog, a large one that looks like a wolf.”

  “A wolf?” Sasha echoed. She straightened up, and relaxed her hand, letting it leave her pistol.

  “Sound familiar?”

  “That’s why you were talking to Sally Clark.” She jerked her head toward the neighbor’s house.

  “Yes.”

  “Why are you looking-”

  “Did you find anything in the bedroom?” he asked, cutting her off. “I mean evidence.”

  She bristled. Sasha hated being interrupted. It seemed even more annoying coming from him. “Yes. Why are you looking for this ‘person with a pet dog’?”

  “He or she might have answers so some questions I have,” Dylan replied.

  “Don’t be cryptic.”

  “What evidence?”

  “Fur.” She watched as Dylan’s eyes dropped, descended into thought. “Why?”

  He didn’t speak for maybe ten whole seconds, but when he did, it only added to Sasha’s confusion. “Why don’t we drop this silly stand-off, and you and I can go get some dinner?”

  “What?” she whispered, exasperated. What the hell was this guy playing at?

  “Let’s have dinner tonight. Together.”

  “It’s early.”

  “Then we’ll have a drink first. There must be a local watering hole.”

  “I don’t think so,” Sasha said. “You’re under arrest for trespassing onto a crime scene.” She reached for her handcuffs which she had tucked beneath the elastic of her trousers.

  “Think of it as an opportunity,” Dylan said. “I’m your only suspect, and your only lead. The fur will come back from the lab as belonging to a species of wolf, and I have an alibi for when Charlie Kinnear was murdered.” He gestured with his head in the direction of the bedroom.

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because I saw the security camera when I checked in.”

  “No, I mean about the wolf.”

  He wagged his finger at her. “Not yet. Dinner. Like I said, opportunity’s knocking.”

  “An opportunity for what?”

  “You obviously know either as much as I do, or less. If the latter, then it is an opportunity to correct that.”

  “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “I’ll tell you everything I know,” he said. “Over dinner and drinks. Who knows, maybe I’ll get drunk and let something slip, right?”

  Sasha stared at the man for a while, unsure of what to make of him. He was smug, too smug, and it was irritating. But he was also so sure of himself, and she found herself believing him when he said the fur would belong to a wolf. That didn’t mean it couldn’t have come from a fur coat, though, even though the thought of someone wearing that out here was ludicrous.

  The pet dog stuff sounded fake, as well. He was definitely hiding something, and she felt distinctly at a disadvantage. Perhaps she really did know less than him.

  And she had her weapon, her cuffs, and her radio. Everybody knew her in town. And if he wanted a drink, she could take him to The Bearded Bilby. That was practically the police department’s place.

  She noticed that Dylan hadn’t shifted his weight at all, or even made one gesture that she might construe as him being nervous. He had a plan, or at least was winging it with cavalier confidence. She could always arrest him later, charge him then, if only to teach the smug bastard a lesson.

  But, for now, his offer was tempting. Why not have dinner with him? Why not try to glean what she could. She reached for her radio, but he stopped her by putting up his hand.

  “No, don’t call it in,” he said. “You’re not on the clock when we have dinner.”

  “Fine,” she said. She’d have a chance sooner or later.

  “And no police bar,” he added. “We’re going somewhere neutral.” He reached behind him then, and Sasha instinctively reached for her gun, backing up.

  “Don’t!” she yelled, pointing at him.

  “It’s just a map,” he said, grinning. He slowly drew out the folded piece of colorful paper, one she recognized from the tourist office, and began to smooth out its creases.

  Sasha almost wanted to laugh. She couldn’t believe this guy! She’d never encountered anyone who behaved like he did in front of police officers, especially with the threat of harm. He’d definitely seen that she was ready to pull her pistol.

  “What
the hell are you doing?” she asked, growing cross.

  “Picking a place,” he said.

  Sasha rolled her eyes. “You could just ask me.”

  “I don’t trust you. Yet.”

  “Right.” She watched him as he scanned the map. He muttered to himself, but she was sure it was entirely for her benefit. He was putting on a show of how much he knew.

  “Right,” he said, his voice low. “I would say we could go to The Bearded Bilby, but given how close it is to the police station, and how this afternoon I walked past it and saw two parked police cars…” He looked up at Sasha, a glint in his eye. “That we should probably avoid that one. How about Harold’s? Do they do food?”

  Sasha ground her teeth together, before reluctantly answering, “Pub grub.”

  “Great,” Dylan said. He folded the map carefully, stuffed it into his back pocket, and began to walk toward her.

  “Woah, woah,” Sasha said. “Slow down. Where do you think you’re going?”

  “To get ready for our date.”

  She blurted out a short laugh. “Date?”

  “Yes, dinner and drinks. Sounds like a date to me.” He shrugged.

  “I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

  “I know. That’s why you’re going to drive me to my motel.”

  Sasha couldn’t stop another laugh from escaping her lips. “I’m sorry? I’m the one who says what we do.”

  “That’s right, you’re calling the shots, boss. But, look,” he said, clasping his hands together and putting on a mock expression, as though he were asking a favor. “I’ve been walking around all day in the sun. If we’re going out together, I’d like to at least freshen up. Don’t worry, I’m very quick. Plus, you can confirm my alibi, detective.”

  Sasha took her hand away from her gun, and planted it on her hip. She was fairly certain this would go down as the strangest case she ever worked, when it was all said and done, with the strangest suspect, or at best, person of interest.