Fugitive: A Werebear + BBW Paranormal Romance (Beast Warriors Book 1)

by Bliss Devlin

  Rafe saw Shannon come alert at the mention of further studies.

  "Oh yes, of course!" she said eagerly, then caught herself. "…and you'll pay for the classes and materials?"

  "Of course," Hal said smoothly. "As soon as you're reasonably settled, we can discuss the best way to begin your studies, and a schedule of courses, either online or at a college in the area."

  And by that time, we'll have some idea of how proficient a healer she really is, thought Rafe.

  "I agree to those terms," Shannon said.

  Hal turned his cold gaze to Rafe, and Rafe felt sudden apprehension. His former commander was not happy that Rafe had openly declared his support for Shannon.

  "Finally, will you accept Rafe Magnusson as your sponsor and swear to obey Elysia's laws?" asked Hal.

  Rafe stared at Hal incredulously. Sponsor? What's the cunning old bear playing at?

  But before he could protest, Shannon asked sweetly, "But what about the debt of honor that you owe Granda?"

  "I'm offering you sanctuary here, aren't I? But this is a special case, since WSS is hot on your trail," Hal informed her. "So my offer is contingent on you being sponsored by me or one of the other bear shifters." He paused. "And I have no interest in taking on additional responsibilities."

  Shannon whipped her head around and fixed Rafe with a fierce glare. "Did you know about this when you asked for sanctuary?"

  He shook his head, annoyed that Hal had made up this requirement on the spot. "It's an old—a really old--custom among shifters, but it was used only when a shifter moved from one territory to another and changed alphas. I've never heard of an ordinary human needing a sponsor."

  "As your sponsor, Rafe will take responsibility for you and guarantee the keeping of your promises," Hal said. "He'll provide for you until you can provide for yourself. He'll protect you and keep your secrets, and you shall do the same for him. You'll obey his orders and let him guide you in your new life here."

  That doesn't sound too onerous, thought Rafe. He had intended to do most of those things for his lovely guest anyway.

  But Hal wasn't finished. "And finally, if it turns out that you've somehow lied to us about who you are and why you're here, Rafe will serve as your executioner."

  Kill Shannon? Rafe felt as if he'd been kicked in the stomach. His bear-spirit rose in protest. He would not. He could not.

  Hal paused to look sternly at both Rafe and Shannon. "Knowing these conditions, do you still wish to ask for sanctuary?"

  Rafe held his breath. Shannon could not possibly wish to entrust herself—

  "Yes," she said, her voice soft but steady. "If Rafe is willing to sponsor me, I'll be happy to swear to follow all your rules and conditions."

  "And what about you, Rafe Magnusson? Will you sponsor Shannon Joyce, to shield and protect?"

  Of course I will. I'll do anything to protect her. But I'd never be able to raise my sword against her.

  "Hal," Rafe said in his most reasonable tone. "This is ridiculous. No one's done an oath of shifter sponsorship in at least a hundred years. It's archaic."

  "Maybe, but it's necessary," Hal said gravely. "Too much depends on our presence in Elysia remaining a secret from the world and particularly from WSS."

  "Please, Mr. Magnusson," said Shannon.

  She reached back to take his hand, and he closed his fingers around hers. Hal noticed, and a frown drew together his white-blond brows.

  "I don't mind promising to follow orders. Truly, I don't," Shannon assured Rafe.

  How could he resist?

  "All right," said Rafe, simultaneously overjoyed and terrified by the weight of this responsibility. "I accept the conditions and agree to sponsor you, Shannon."

  "Then let's get it over with," Hal said, grumpily, as if he had expected Rafe to refuse his conditions. "Shannon, are you familiar with the ceremony?"

  She shook her head.

  Hal swiftly explained what she had to do and say. When he had finished, Shannon looked dubious.

  "Are you still willing?" Hal asked, sounding like he hoped she'd change her mind.

  "I am," she said with great dignity.

  She rose from her chair and turned to face Rafe.

  Now it was her turn to kneel, and she sank gracefully to her knees, teasing him with a glimpse of opulent cleavage in the loose neckline of her oversized robe.

  Shannon folded her hands together, as if in prayer, and raised them.

  Rafe enclosed her folded hands firmly within his own.

  "Shannon Joyce, do you willingly tender me your oath of fealty and accept me as your sponsor?" asked Rafe.

  Shannon took a deep breath, and Rafe saw her pulse beating in the hollow of her throat. He longed to stoop and kiss her there. "I do, Rafe Magnusson."

  An odd jolt went through him at her words, as if they were being bound by something deeper than this archaic ceremony that Hal Sigurdsson had dredged up from the depths of shifter tradition.

  She paused, clearly trying to remember the words of the fealty oath.

  "I—I become your vassal from this day forth, for life, for member, and for worldly honor, and shall owe you faith in return for your protection and maintenance, saving the faith that I owe unto God," Shannon recited. "I promise to obey all the laws of Elysia, to keep all the secrets entrusted to me, and to always work for the greater good of the community."

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

  Shannon inclined her head. "I swear it," she said softly. "And may God and all the saints strike me down if I break faith with Rafe Magnusson."

  "I accept your oath," Rafe said. His chest was oddly tight, and he felt short of breath. "And I swear to do all that is right and proper as your sponsor. In return for your obedience, 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."

  Shannon smiled up at him, and the trust in her eyes humbled him.

  "Good," said Hal, draining his tumbler of whiskey. "Welcome to Elysia, Shannon Joyce. Don't make Rafe kill you, eh?" He turned to Rafe. "And don't forget to dispose of those wolf shifters, now. It would be a shame if law enforcement came poking around here."

  Chapter 6 – Clothed

  The next day, Shannon awoke slowly, roused by a deliciously savory smell.

  Her surroundings were oddly silent after days of hearing the thrum of ship's engines and the drone of aircraft engines. There was only the faint rush of the wind and the distant notes of birdsong.

  Something was missing, and after a few minutes, Shannon realized that she couldn't hear the familiar rush and breaking waves of the sea, a sound that had formed a soothing backdrop for most of her life.

  Her bed was soft, and the bed linens were imbued with an unfamiliar but pleasant faint fragrance. And she was naked.

  Shock jolted her fully awake.

  Her eyes flew open and took in the details of an unfamiliar bedchamber. For a long moment, she couldn't remember where she was or how she'd gotten here.

  Then fragments of memory began to return to her. A desperate flight up a forested mountainside. Wolves…and an angry bear.

  Rafe, tall and golden-haired and strong, with a smile as warm as sunlight. Riding in a huge truck the color of garnets.

  A giant with white-blond hair and eyes as cold as glacial ice. Hal Sigurdsson.

  Had she really bound herself to Rafe Magnusson, a man she had known for mere hours?

  Shannon tried to tell herself that impelled by fatigue and panic, she had just made a very bad decision.

  But somehow she couldn't bring herself to believe it. Everything she had seen and heard yesterday convinced her that Rafe was trustworthy and a man of honor.

  After Hal had departed, all the exhaustion from a long week filled with terror, wild flight, hunger, and days of walking through the wilderness had caught up with S
hannon.

  A wave of dizziness and disorientation had swept over her, and the room began to spin slowly, as if she had imbibed too much mead.

  Rafe had noticed, and she had found herself swept up in his strong arms once more.

  "You'll feel better after a good night's sleep," he had said as he carried her up the stairs to her bedchamber.

  Why was it that she had felt so safe, nestled against his broad chest?

  Her traitorous body, remembering the heat that his kiss had kindled earlier, had wanted him to join her in the wide bed. But he had put her down gently, bidden her good night, and left her bedroom.

  Shannon had stayed awake long enough to use the loo and to wash her hands and face, then she had crawled into the soft, clean bed and let sleep claim her.

  Now, she heard the sounds of male voices laughing and heard talking coming from outside the house and wondered how late it was.

  Climbing out of the bed, she drew aside the heavy curtain that shrouded the room in darkness and peeked out into a sunlit landscape of lush green pastures dotted with wildflowers. There were mountains in the distance, their rugged slopes covered with a mottled pelt of forests and grassy meadows.

  Near the house, she saw several large timber buildings that looked like barns for livestock and hay.

  It was noon, or very nearly so, if the shadows could be believed.

  On a large patch of grass some distance from the house, a huge pile of stacked logs burned steadily, sending a plume of smoke into the cloudless blue sky. Shannon shuddered at the sight and tried not to look too closely at the funeral pyre.

  But the sight reminded her of the lengths that Rafe had gone to yesterday to protect a stranger, even before he had given her his oath to protect her like some medieval knight.

  She looked around for the robe she had worn yesterday and found it folded at the foot of her bed, where she had left it before succumbing to sleep.

  Her clothing had been laundered and hung on hangers in the closet. Her T-shirt was clean and dry, if wrinkled, and she eagerly pulled it over her head. As she did so, she noticed that it was scented with the same light fragrance as the bed linens.

  Her underwear, jeans, and knitted jumper had been laundered as well, and the thick woolen pullover was still a little damp to the touch. She pulled on her underpants and jeans, then hesitated. The knitted pullover had been well suited for the cool and rainy Irish coastal weather, and besides, she had only been able to dress quickly at gunpoint before being hustled out of her house.

  But here, the room was already warm, and the weather outside looked to be hot and sunny. She decided to stick with just her T-shirt, plain as it was.

  A door downstairs opened and closed while she was washing her face, and she heard the heavy tread of multiple boots on the floorboards. She tensed, wondering whether WSS had found her after all.

  "Shannon?" Rafe called up the stairs, alerted by the sound of running water. "Did you find the clothes I washed for you? Drake and Brett came over for breakfast, by the way."

  Wondering who Drake and Brett were, Shannon replied, "Yes, thank you so much! It's lovely to have clean clothes again. I'll be there in a moment."

  She hastily dried her face and ventured cautiously downstairs.

  Two big bearded men sat at the dining table, one as golden-haired as Rafe and the other with dark brown hair and bright hazel eyes. As she approached the table, she caught a whiff of sweat and sawdust. The men fixed her with interested but wary looks.

  She heard Rafe doing something in the kitchen that involved the clatter and clash of metal.

  "You must be Shannon Joyce," said the big golden-haired man in a rumbling voice. "Pleased to meet you, ma'am. I'm Brett Thorfinnson."

  He half-rose from his seat and gave her a polite nod, and the brown-haired man followed suit.

  "Very pleased to meet you." Shannon wondered if Rafe had told them about her.

  Her question was answered a moment later when the brown-haired man, after examining her intently, said, "You're in pretty good shape for having roughed it in the Bitterroot with no camping gear."

  Shannon's face heated. So Rafe had told them all about her. Did they think she had lied about her experiences?

  At that moment, Rafe emerged from the kitchen, carrying a steaming metal pan held in a padded oven mitt.

  "Cornbread's ready, and there's chili in the crockpot," he announced, placing the pan on the table.

  He gave Shannon a smile that sent heat shooting straight down to the pit of her belly. "Did you sleep well, Shannon?"

  She nodded. "Never better. Thank you."

  He chuckled. "You looked all done-in with fatigue last night. I didn't have the heart to wake you for breakfast, so I tried to be quiet when I left the house to do my chores."

  "I didn't hear a thing," she assured him.

  He pulled out a chair for her. "Please sit. These are my friends and business partners, Brett Thorfinnson—"

  The big golden-haired man gave her another polite nod. "We've introduced ourselves," he said.

  He had bright blue eyes fringed by long golden lashes, and he winked flirtatiously at her when Rafe wasn't looking.

  "—and Drake Snorrison." Now it was the brown-haired man's turn to nod.

  "Brett and Drake, meet Shannon, Elysia's new healer. She's Dr. Liam Donlon's granddaughter, and he trained her."

  "Liam's still alive? Where is he?" demanded Drake. "We all thought he died when—"

  Rafe frowned at him, and Drake abruptly stopped talking, leaving Shannon to wonder exactly what Granda's escape from WSS had entailed.

  "Colonel Perry's men abducted me from my home," Shannon said. "Granda was away on the mainland at the time. I hope they didn't catch him, too."

  She saw both men recoil slightly.

  "I'm glad to hear the old coot is still alive. He did us all a good turn back then," Brett said, sounding sympathetic. "Welcome to Elysia, Ms. Joyce. It'll be nice to have a real healer here again."

  "Once we've finished lunch, I'll take you into town to buy some clothes and other necessities," Rafe said.

  He vanished into the kitchen once more and returned with two bowls filled with a savory stew of meat and beans in a dark red gravy. The two ranch hands followed the progress of the bowls with eager gazes.

  Placing one bowl in front of Shannon, Rafe gave his two friends a jaundiced look. "Well, what are you two waiting for? Lunch is self-serve."

  "Unless you're a pretty lady, like Ms. Joyce here," Drake commented, grinning.

  "Damn right," agreed Rafe, putting the second bowl at the remaining free seat.

  Pretty? Were they teasing her? "Please call me Shannon," she said shyly.

  Rafe's gaze met hers briefly, and she saw something hot and hungry there. Her breath caught as he leaned over. He cut a steaming square of the pale yellow cake from the pan and placed it on a small plate next to Shannon's bowl.

  "Cornbread," he explained. "And there's butter, if you want it, as well as chopped onions and grated cheese for garnishing your chili."

  Shannon dipped her spoon in the chili and tasted it cautiously. She'd heard of chili and cornbread as the classic cowboy meal, but she'd never had either.

  The chili was tangy and savory with pepper and herbs, pleasantly spicy, and she was suddenly ravenously hungry.

  "Delicious!" she exclaimed and was rewarded by Rafe's smile.

  He was far too handsome for her peace of mind.

  Her face grew hot at the memory of what had happened between them yesterday. What must he think of her? Did he think she was in the habit of shamelessly kissing strangers?

  She badly wanted to talk to him about what he expected of her now he'd agreed to be her sponsor…and she very much wanted him to kiss her again.

  But the presence of his two friends inhibited any real conversation between them over the hearty meal of chili and the moist, slightly sweet cornbread.

  Rafe, Brett, and Drake spent most of the meal discussing the afterno
on's chores, which involved replacing fence posts in one of the pastures and cutting brush on another part of the property.

  As she ate, she quietly observed all three men, trying to learn more about the man who was now responsible for her. Neither Brett nor Drake seemed particularly deferential towards Rafe, and all three men seemed to enjoy an easy camaraderie as each downed several bowlfuls of the chili and rapidly emptied the pan of the sweet cornbread.

  Shannon wondered if Brett and Drake were also Beast Warrior exiles. If they knew about WSS and her Granda, then, yes, they probably were shapeshifters, she concluded.

    

  As he ate, Rafe pondered his dilemma and tried not to stare at Shannon.

  He had found her irresistibly attractive yesterday, when she had been exhausted, hungry, and grimy from long days of travel.

  Now, washed, rested, and fed, she was absolutely devastating.

  A wealth of black curls tumbled over her shoulders and down her back, and her smooth cheeks were delicately tinted with rose, as were her appetizing lips. The jeans and tight T-shirt she wore highlighted the lush curves of her bosom, waist, and deliciously rounded hips.

  He noticed Brett's flirtatious looks and fought the urge to growl at his friend and business partner. She was his now. His to feed, shelter, and protect.

  His bear-spirit stirred restlessly. Take her. Make her our mate, it urged.

  Mate? Rafe asked incredulously.

  Sure, he had enjoyed—more than enjoyed—kissing Shannon last night, and he badly wanted to take her to bed. It had been far too long since he'd had sex.

  But a mate was something else entirely…it was a lifetime commitment.

  And there was one more frustrating conundrum: now that he was her sponsor, he couldn't honorably pursue her, because she might feel obliged to submit to his advances. And he wasn't the kind of man who would take advantage of a vulnerable subordinate.

  After that searing kiss last night, he knew that he wouldn't settle for anything less than willing and enthusiastic from this lovely woman.