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

by Bliss Devlin

  "Shannon Joyce, I've been waiting weeks for you to say that!" Brett said, clapping his hand weakly over his heart.

  Shannon laughed and continued bantering with him as she carefully continued cutting away at the thick, bloodstained fabric.

  When his leg was exposed, she was finally able to assess the extent of his injury. His flesh was gouged and torn, as if a wild beast had attacked him, and she saw dirt and wood chips embedded in the wound.

  "How did this happen?" she asked, appalled by the extent of the damage to skin and muscle. "It looks like you've been savaged by a bear."

  "If I blamed Rafe, would I have a chance with you, pretty lady?" Brett joked weakly.

  She fixed him with a stern look.

  He sighed. "Nope? Okay, I'll confess—I was using a chainsaw to cut up a fallen tree, and it hit something, and my leg got in the way of a kickback."

  Despite the fact that she was a native English speaker, she understood nothing but his reference to cutting up a fallen tree.

  "Are you going to stitch me up?"

  "I'm not sure," she said slowly.

  Could she do it? Could she really heal him cleanly without Granda to guide her? She had healed that boy…

  Brett craned his neck and looked down at his leg. His eyes widened.

  "Holy shit, that's going to be a lot of stitches. How long until I can get back to work?" He paused. "I'm not going to be crippled, am I?"

  "No stitches," Shannon said. "I can heal you with my powers, but it will take a lot out of you. You'll need to rest for a day or two, but then you should be able to resume your normal activities."

  Given the extent of his injuries, she suspected that he would be spending the better part of two days in a deep, coma-like sleep while his body recovered from the accelerated healing process.

  "Really?" asked Brett skeptically.

  "Really," Shannon assured him.

  Moving swiftly, she filled a squeeze bottle with sterile saline solution. Then she picked up a pair of tweezers.

  "First, I'll have to cleanse your wound," she said, frowning down at his leg. "That's likely to be painful, and I apologize for it."

  "I'll growl a lot, but I won't bite…unless you want me to," Brett assured her.

  Over the next ten minutes, Shannon learned an entirely new selection of American curse words. She filed them away.

  "Done," she said, finally, when the wound looked clean.

  She had removed the larger fragments of wood and dirt with the tweezers, then washed the rest out with a steady stream of salt water.

  By a miracle, the chainsaw had missed Brett's thighbone and major blood vessels, but the wound left behind gaped, and she could see shredded muscle beneath a thin layer of yellow fat and skin.

  "Sorry about the crude language," Brett muttered, unclenching his fists. His face looked bloodless.

  "No matter," Shannon assured him. "I've heard worse. When we're done here, I'll teach you some Irish swear words, if you like." She gently patted his hip, well away from the injured area. "Now I can heal you."

  She took a deep breath and drew on the power of earth and water, hoping it would come to her call in Idaho as it had in Ireland.

  And it did, though it took more effort to summon the familiar energies. Or perhaps that was just due to her nerves.

  Trying to conceal her relief, Shannon peeled off the gloves and placed her bare hands on his leg, on either side of the long, jagged wound. "This may hurt. I will be accelerating the normal healing processes for a wound."

  Then she reached for the power she had summoned, trying to coax it to the surface so that she could shape it and channel it into the damaged flesh under her palms.

  "Ouch," said Brett. "Your hands are burning hot."

  Shannon ignored him and tried to block all extraneous thoughts from her mind as she concentrated on visualizing healthy, undamaged flesh in place of what was torn and bruised.

  As she worked, she pressed together the edges of the wound to reduce the scarring.

  Brett's skin grew even hotter against her palms as she fed power into it, picturing torn muscles knitting, tiny veins and capillaries growing and reaching like roots, nourishing flesh and bone.

  "Hey," he said. "Hey!"

  He squirmed, an involuntary shrinking away from her touch, but she pressed down firmly, keeping contact.

  Shannon scarcely heard his protests, wrapped up as she was in controlling the flow of power she was channeling up from her center and out into the heart of the ugly wound marring his thigh. Muscle corded and flexed under her hands, and his skin rapidly heated and cooled.

  Brett convulsed, and a nonstop string of oaths, muttered like prayers, escaped him.

  "Almost done," murmured Shannon, reassuringly, never breaking contact. "You've been very brave, and now it's nearly over."

  She raised her hands at last. It was hard to release the power flowing so sweetly and obediently through her body and out her hands.

  With satisfaction, she examined his leg and saw that the pink line of a new scar now replaced the gaping wound. She let out a long breath.

  "There," she told Brett with deep satisfaction. "Good as new! Let me sponge off the blood, and your leg will be just as beautiful as before."

  She turned to wet a cloth at the clinic's washbasin, but Brett caught her wrist.

  "Shannon, marry me." He didn't look like he was joking this time. "Please. You're so beautiful, and anyone who can do what you do—"

  The big blond man raised her gloved hand to his lips…just as Rafe pushed open the door and entered. He was carrying a large square cooler bag.

  Rafe stopped short at the sight of them, and his usual easy charm vanished. His gray eyes glowed with rage, and he snarled, his expression chilling Shannon to the bone.

  She tried to pull away, but Brett's grip tightened as he returned Rafe's snarl with one of his own.

  "Get your hands off her," Rafe growled. "Now."

  Brett sneered. "I don't take orders from you, Rafe. I asked Shannon a fair question, and she hasn't given me her answer yet." He looked at her, his bright blue eyes serious. "Well, pretty lady? What do you say? You haven't visited my house yet, but it's just as nice as Rafe's, I promise."

  Shannon, acutely aware of Rafe's gaze burning against her skin, sighed.

  She liked Brett, but she had never wondered what it would feel like to kiss him…or to do other things with him.

  "Brett, I'm honored by your proposal, truly I am," she began.

  "—but you're not interested," he finished glumly. And released her hand at last.

  "I'm sorry," she told him.

  "So am I." He tried to smile and yawned instead.

  She patted his shoulder. "You need food—as much as you can eat—and rest. Go, have some lunch and a nap."

  Drake entered, deftly tossing a set of truck keys up into the air and catching them again.

  "Hey, Brett, how are you—holy shit, your leg's all healed up!" the brown-haired man interrupted himself. He gave an admiring whistle. "I can see why Hal was so excited to get an Irish healer here."

  Shannon was surprised to hear that Hal actually wanted her here, as opposed to merely tolerating her presence. He'd certainly been the opposite of welcoming at their first—and thus far, only—meeting.

  "I have a pan of enchiladas warming in my oven," Rafe said to Brett, all menace now evaporated. "Drake here will give you a lift back to the house, and you can use one of the empty guest bedrooms if you need a nap."

  Brett threw Shannon a rueful glance. "Enchiladas…my favorite food. And that's how Rafe plots to get you all to himself. Take heed of his crafty ways." He turned to look at Rafe, a mischievous glint in his eye. "I bet Shannon's hungry, too. Maybe she should come back to the house with me to sample some of your wonderful enchiladas…and to make sure I don't collapse on the way."

  His woeful expression was so exaggerated that Rafe rolled his eyes and Shannon laughed.

  "And here you've all been telling m
e that the bear shifters are the biggest and toughest of all the Beast Warriors," she said.

  "We are!" Brett said immediately.

  Shannon grinned. "Good. Then you'll be just fine with Drake to watch over you."

  "And I brought lunch for Shannon," Rafe added smugly, hefting the insulated bag. "I need to talk to her…in private."

  Brett and Drake both snorted at this. But Brett let Drake help him down from the treatment couch without further protest.

  Shannon watched as the big man made his way gingerly to the door. He put his hand on the brass push bar, then turned to her. "Thank you, Shannon. You're a wonderful healer."

  Then he was gone, followed closely by Drake, who winked at her in passing.

  Shannon put her hands on her hips and did her best to glare at Rafe.

  Despite their living under the same roof, she had scarcely seen him except at lunch and dinner since her arrival, as Rafe seemed to divide all his time between his ranch chores and his guests.

  She suspected he been avoiding her, and his sudden possessive behavior now both piqued and flattered her.

  He smiled at her with genuine warmth, unfazed by her expression. "I really like that dress on you," he said.

  She scoffed. "Can you even see any of it under the smock I'm wearing?"

  His gaze scorched her as it traveled up from her sandal-clad feet. "It flatters your legs. And they're very nice legs."

  "It exposes my legs," she corrected him, fighting the urge to smile.

  "One of the many reasons I like it," he drawled.

  She laughed. "So, what did you wish to speak to me about?"

  He grinned. "I mostly wanted to check on how Brett was doing. That was a really nasty injury, but when I saw how frisky he was feeling…"

  "You felt compelled to growl at him and chase him away?" she asked.

  "Damned right I did," he agreed. "And not a moment too soon. He would have had you in front of a justice of the peace saying I do, before you knew it."

  He was absolutely shameless in his possessiveness…and she found she liked it.

  Rafe bent and unzipped the insulated container.

  "And now what?" she asked, amused.

  "And now you're going to wash up and eat the food I prepared for you," Rafe said, removing a large lidded tray from his bag, "and I'm going to watch you enjoy it."

  She took a deep whiff of the delicious cloud of steam that escaped the tray when he unsnapped the lid. She could smell onions and cumin and thyme, along with the tangy scent of cooked tomatoes. "These are…enchiladas?"

  Rafe nodded. "I hope you don't mind spicy food. They’re made from tortillas rolled around a filling of shredded beef, onion, and peppers in a spicy red sauce and topped with cheese."

  The scent set her stomach growling, reminding her of how much energy she had expended in healing Brett. "Oh, and that smells lovely!"

  She hastened to clear away the debris from her wound treatment and washed her hands.

  When she turned back to Rafe, she saw that he had brought other delicacies as well—a portion of a fruit salad, a stack of the chocolate chip biscuits—cookies—she liked so much, and a bottle of the fizzy lemonade that was her favorite drink.

  Feeling drained and ravenous from her healing work, she ate nearly everything he had brought while he sipped at his drink and watched her with a satisfied smile.

  "Thank you," she said when she had finished, infusing her words with real gratitude. "Performing a healing—a real healing—always takes a lot out of me."

  "What you did for Brett was miraculous," Rafe said, gathering up the empty plates and containers. "I had heard of how Dr. Donlon was able to heal people, but I'd never actually seen…"

  "So it's true? You were really denied decent medical care?" she asked indignantly.

  "We were basically slave soldiers," Rafe replied soberly. "And doctors are expensive."

  Shannon shook her head. "That was cruel. I'm truly sorry."

  "But now we have you to fix us up," Rafe said good-naturedly. "I expect you're going to be a lot busier once word gets around about what you did for Brett. We shifters all grew up hearing about healers like you, but not all of us believe that those stories are really true."

  Shannon glanced at him through her lashes, admiring his broad, muscular frame.

  She had wanted to kiss Rafe again for days now, and the craving only grew stronger with each passing hour. "So, you're pleased with me, Mr. Magnusson?"

  "Of course I am…and didn't I tell you to call me Rafe?" His gray eyes narrowed.

  She smiled as sweetly as she could. "I'm glad to hear it. I was beginning to fear I had displeased you in some way."

  "What?" He seemed honestly bewildered. "Why on earth would you think that?"

  "Because I noticed that you've been avoiding me," she said boldly. "I thought that maybe I had offended you in some way."

  He flushed and looked uncomfortable. "Of course you haven't offended me! It's just…there's been so much work…uh, guests. You know…"

  Good. She was getting to him. Just one more small push…

  "Yes, you're very busy," she agreed. "And I can see that I'm imposing on you, taking up a room that might be used for paying guests. You've been more than kind and more than generous as my sponsor—" she swept her hand around, indicating the clothes that she wore as well as the clinic's furnishings. "But Brett says he has a large house as well, and I was thinking that perhaps I could rent a room from him—"

  "No." Rafe growled, suddenly looming over her.

  She started as he grabbed her arms, hauling her up. "But—"

  "You're mine," he said, definitively, silencing her with a long and very thorough kiss.

  When they finally parted, she was panting and pleased and hungry for more.

  For his part, Rafe looked mortified.

  "That was inexcusable," he said, sounding breathless. "I shouldn't have…of course the choice is yours, if you prefer Brett—"

  He sounded as if he were spitting out each word like a mouth-puckering sour berry.

  "I don't," she told him.

  She put her hands on his broad chest and gave him a gentle shove. Looking surprised, he sat.

  "So you've been avoiding me because you didn't want to kiss me again?" she asked and plunked herself boldly down on his lap.

  He stiffened but didn't object. The muscles of his thighs were hard beneath the worn fabric of his jeans.

  "I'm your sponsor," he began. "I didn't want you to think—"

  "And I don't," she assured him.

  "You really want me? Want this?" His arms finally came around her, and she leaned back tentatively against his broad chest.

  "Yes."

  Then all rational thought vanished as he slipped one hand down the neckline of her dress. His fingertips began a slow spiral around her breasts, moving in tighter and tighter circles until he brushed her nipples through the thin lace of her bra.

  A jolt of pleasure shot straight down to the pit of her belly. She gasped.

  "You have such beautiful breasts." Rafe's breath tickled Shannon's ear as his fingers continued to play with her nipples, gently brushing the sensitive tips, which rapidly stiffened to yearning points under the fabric. "Do you like this?"

  "Yes!" Shannon felt her face heat with embarrassment at her shameless response.

  Rafe chuckled, sounding a little breathless. "I can see that you do. Now just imagine what I could do to your sweet breasts with my mouth…"

  Shannon shuddered with the fierce desire that image evoked.

  Callused fingertips slipped under her bra to capture one nipple. Rafe pinched it lightly. She moaned, caught by overwhelming sensation.

  Rafe continued his sweet torment of her breasts for a timeless interval while she squirmed helplessly on his lap, wanting more. The throbbing ache of desire between her thighs grew painful, demanding relief.

  An eternity later, but all too soon, his hands moved lower, sliding over her ribs and waist to the hem
of her dress. Her breasts tingled with the aftermath of sensation, and she craved the return of his touch there.

  Rafe drew her dress up over her thighs and bared her to her waist. Then he paused. "You're not wearing any panties."

  Shannon leaned back, her heart pounding, and let her head rest against his shoulder. A hard bulge pressed against her hip, and she moved shamelessly against it, enjoying the hitch in his breath as she did so.

  "I don't like them," she said honestly. Bras—especially ones that fitted well—were a marvelous invention, but she had always found panties inexplicable and oddly confining. "And they get in the way."

  "Yes," he murmured, "I agree. They do."

  He stroked his fingertips lightly up the inside of one thigh, and she sighed with the pleasure of his touch.

  Then Rafe nipped at the curve of her ear, sending another jolt of sensation down her spine.

  "Move your knees apart," he whispered, his large hand resting against Shannon's lower belly.

  Shannon eagerly obeyed, sliding her legs over his.

  She bit back a gasp as his thick fingers slid between her legs and slowly explored the heated, sensitive folds between her legs, inflaming her further.

  He stroked her clit, and colorful sparks shot across her inner eye. She cried out with surprised pleasure and spread her legs further apart, tilting her hips in silent appeal.

  "Oh, yeah," breathed Rafe. "I love it that you're so wet for me."

  His fingers returned to the spot, teasing and caressing her with a feather-light touch.

  She didn't want him to stop what he was doing…but as pleasure gathered like storm clouds, she realized she also needed more, somehow.

  "Rafe, please," she begged in a ragged whisper, certain he would know what she needed, even if she didn't.

  He pulled her around, cradling her with one arm as his finger pushed into Shannon, meeting little resistance from her slick, throbbing flesh.

  "Yes," she moaned, arching against his hand. "Oh please, oh yes…!"

  "Shannon," he said hoarsely.

  He kissed her, his mouth devouring hers, his tongue ravishing her as he penetrated her with a second finger.

  It felt so wonderful to be filled and stretched by him. The pad of his thumb rubbed deliciously over the swollen bud standing sentry at the apex of her entrance, every whorl and line on his skin pleasuring her with a subtle, teasing friction.