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

by Bliss Devlin

  Rafe grabbed one of the spears and hurled it. The shifter howled and went down, the thick shaft lodged in his thigh, below his body armor.

  But before Rafe could savor his victory, more wolf shifters appeared to press the attack.

  Rafe cursed, drew his sword, and fought with all his strength, knowing it was hopeless. There were too many wolf shifters, and they had been living the hard lives of warriors. Whereas Rafe had been at peace for years, running his lodge and working his ranch.

  He and the other bear shifters of Elysia met regularly to spar with their blades and to practice their unarmed combat skills, but sparring was no substitute for the rigors of actual combat.

  And his opponents knew it, too.

  It was humiliating to realize that none of Erik's men were bothering to shift into their Beast Warrior shapes, the fearsome half-man, half-wolf form they used for hand-to-hand combat against serious foes.

  Or, in the case of Shannon, to terrorize a lone unarmed woman.

  Rafe snarled and pressed his attack, but he was surrounded now and fighting for his life against three of the wolf shifters.

  His back was against the solid stone of a boulder, but he knew it was only a matter of time before one of the Beast Warriors facing him managed to penetrate his guard.

  He was glad he had brought his old shield with him—it saved him now as he thrust and parried and slashed against opponents who were doing the same to him.

  Then he saw Erik Redclaw pull Shannon past the stone circle, his hand around her wrist. She went with him, her eyes wide and fastened on Rafe as Erik dragged her along. Her expression was desperately sad as she saw Rafe fighting for his life, but she wasn't struggling against her captor.

  Why isn't she fighting him? Why isn't she trying to get away?

  "Someone start the fucking cars!" shouted Erik, as he hauled Shannon stumbling towards the far side of the meadow. "Do it now!"

  Fighting for his life, Rafe didn't have the energy to smirk. But he'd had a bit of time before Wolf Team arrived, and he had put that time to good use.

  None of those SUVs would be able to start without certain important bits of their engines.

  Not wanting to warn Erik's men of his presence, Rafe had been forced to work quickly before concealing himself behind one of the boulders that made up the circle.

  More shouts and curses followed when the shifters assigned to start the SUVs realized that they'd all been sabotaged.

  Rafe was beginning to think that he might have foiled Erik Redclaw, after all, despite being outnumbered.

  Then one of Rafe's men ran forward with something in his hands. He was grinning, and Rafe's heart sank as he saw sunlight glinting off metal. Shit.

  "Found 'em!" he shouted. "The bastard threw 'em into a hollow tree!"

  Rafe howled in rage. How could he have forgotten that a wolf's sense of smell was every bit as keen as a bear's?

  It hadn't taken long for Erik's man to follow the scent of oil and engines in the clean, fresh air of this forest and find the cache of cables and spark plugs where Rafe had dumped them.

  If I'd only had more time, I could have hiked over to the nearest stream and tossed them in.

  Now, while Rafe was occupied with three opponents, Erik was going to fix the vehicles, and then they'd take Shannon and Dr. Donlon away.

  Rafe couldn't let that happen. It was now or never—he had to do something to stop Redclaw, or he would lose Shannon forever.

  But how could he do it when he was barely managing to stave off the barrage of blows from sword and axe? If he shifted his attention away from his opponents an instant too long, he'd be dead.

  I promised I would keep Shannon safe!

  He was sure that Hal and the others would be arriving soon.

  And if he could keep Erik and his men away from their cars until then, they'd be unable to make a clean getaway.

  Brett and Drake would rescue Shannon and take care of her.

  All Rafe had to do was sacrifice himself.

  Damn it.

  He gathered his strength and managed to momentarily drive back his opponents with a furious, reckless attack.

  A moment was all he needed to pull the remaining spear from the ground and aim it at Erik Redclaw.

  But Redclaw saw him and pulled Shannon close, using her as a shield. "Don't try it, Magnusson!"

  Rafe had spent countless hours over the past centuries practicing his spear-throwing skills. He rarely missed. And he didn't miss now.

  Shannon's eyes widened as he hurled the spear.

  And hit the wolf shifter holding the spark plugs and cables. Modern body armor was meant to resist bullets…not a sharp, heavy spear propelled by a bear shifter's muscles.

  The man stumbled forward, the steel spear point deeply embedded in his spine. He collapsed heavily into a crumpled heap in the crushed grass and flowers of the meadow.

  Then something struck Rafe hard in his chest, driving the air from his lungs. He fell to his knees, fighting to breathe. His arms went numb and strengthless.

  Just before he fell onto the carpet of fallen cedar needles, he saw that the front of his shirt was soaked with blood.

  A mortal wound never hurts, he remembered. Shit. I'm sorry, Shannon, my love.

  Then everything vanished.

    

  Forced into passivity by the oath she had sworn to Erik, Shannon watched in horror as one of Erik's warriors cut Rafe down with a long, savage slash of his sword.

  Blood…so much blood!

  She screamed as Rafe fell, the sound torn from her by overwhelming pain and loss.

  His hand like an iron manacle around her wrist, Erik rushed to his fallen warrior's side, pulling her with him.

  "I have to go to Rafe!" she pleaded, trying futilely to pull away from him.

  "Not until you heal Nielsen," Erik snarled. "Thanks to your friend Magnusson here, he's the only one left who knows how to fix our cars."

  He pulled her down with him as he knelt next to the wolf shifter's motionless body.

  Shannon could see that the brown-haired man was dead, but under the heat of Erik's glare, she dutifully reached out to feel for a pulse on Nielsen's neck.

  "He's gone," she said quietly.

  A rumble of dismay rose from Erik's surviving warriors.

  She dared a glance at Erik and saw that his face had gone completely expressionless.

  It was one of the most frightening things that Shannon had ever seen.

  He looked back at her with empty eyes. "Then you'll have to fix those SUVs for us."

  But I don't know how—" Shannon began.

  His expression twisted. "C'mon girlie. I know you used to fix your own car. We watched you do it on that shitty little island of yours."

  How long had they been observing her before moving in for their abduction?

  Shannon lifted her chin and defiantly met his gaze. "No."

  "You promised—" Erik began.

  "I promised that I would not resist your attempts to bring me to WSS headquarters," Shannon said, her throat tight with worry. "And I have not, even though it cost me dearly. But I never promised to help you get there."

  Erik's men were now muttering uneasily, and their expressions made clear their growing apprehension and worry.

  "Girlie, I'll kill you if you don't pick up that pile of junk and make those vehicles go again," growled Erik.

  "Then kill me," she said, her heart pounding. "I'd rather be dead than Colonel Perry's prisoner."

  Erik stared at her for a long moment. "Rafe Magnusson is still alive. But he doesn't have long. Promise me you'll fix our cars, and I'll let you say good-bye to him."

  Shannon gasped. It was an impossible choice. She glanced over at Rafe, trying to determine if Erik was lying to her. Her mate lay face-down in a pool of blood at the base of a standing stone, and from this distance, she couldn't see if he still drew breath.

  "If he truly still lives, let me heal him," Shannon begged Erik.

&n
bsp; She saw Granda push his way past his guards and fall to his knees next to Rafe.

  "…and let Granda go."

  She didn't want to make another bargain with Erik Redclaw, but she couldn't let Rafe die if she could save him. She had no other choice.

  "…and I—I'll fix your autos and go with you, on the condition that neither Granda or Rafe come to any further harm at your hands or the hands of any of your men. And that you keep to your word about keeping Elysia and the bear shifters a secret from WSS."

  Each word felt as if were festooned with burrs, tearing the inside of her throat and leaving it raw.

  But if Erik spoke the truth and Rafe was still alive, then Shannon had to try to save him. He was hers, and she loved him with every inch of her flesh and bone.

  Everything else that followed with WSS and Colonel Perry might be bearable, if only she knew that Rafe and Granda were alive and free to live their lives here in Elysia.

  "Okay." Erik smiled and extended his right arm, ready to seal the bargain. "I—"

  "Erik!" shouted one of the watching warriors. "More bear shifters incoming!"

  Erik snarled and moved. Before she could react, his sword was pressed against her throat. The sharp edge dug into her tender skin like a line of cold fire. "How'd you do it? How did you lead them here?"

  "I didn't—" Shannon began.

  She shrank back as he lifted his sword, raising it for a blow.

  This is it then. Hopefully it'll be quick. Shannon squeezed her eyes shut and waited, her heart hammering in her ears.

  And then another gunshot echoed through the woods. Shannon instinctively ducked and covered her head with her hands.

  But no blow fell.

  When she dared to look up, she saw half of Erik's blade embedded in the nearest tree trunk.

  "Don't move, Redclaw, or the next shot will do more than break your sword!" she heard Hal Sigurdsson shout. "All of you, drop your weapons, hands behind your heads. You're surrounded, and we've all got guns."

  After an instant of stunned disbelief, an overwhelming feeling of relief swept through Shannon, so intense that it dizzied her.

  Erik Redclaw growled, low in his throat, and froze.

  All around her, his remaining wolf shifters stood motionless as they waited for their commander to decide whether to surrender or to fight to the death.

  Shannon seized her chance and ran over to where Rafe lay motionless on the ground, his shirt and the pine needles beneath him soaked with blood.

  Granda had gingerly rolled Rafe onto his back. He had also stripped off his own shirt and was pressing it against Rafe's chest, trying to stanch the flow of blood. His eyes were closed in concentration, but she could tell that things weren't going well.

  "Shannon, are you okay?" Brett shouted in English.

  "Yes," she replied, throwing herself to her knees next to Granda. "But Rafe—"

  "Shit!" Suddenly, Brett and Drake were both there.

  "What happened?" Brett demanded.

  "Is he still alive?" Drake asked at the same moment.

  That's what Shannon desperately wanted to know, too. She stared, frozen with horror, at all the blood. Rafe's blood.

  "Shannon," said Granda sharply, jolting her out of her paralysis.

  His eyes were open now, and he was glaring at her. "Don't just sit there goggling at the poor lad. Some help here, child!"

  Behind her, she heard Hal shouting a demand and Erik replying, but all her attention was on her mate.

  Her fingers trembling, she pressed them against the side of Rafe's neck, hoping against hope…

  "Yes," she breathed. "Yes. He's still alive. Oh, thank you, Jesus."

  "Here," said Drake, handing her a large plastic case. "I brought a first aid kit, just in case."

  She accepted it and handed it to Granda. She watched with bated breath as he gently lifted Rafe's shirt.

  A long, deep wound stretched across Rafe's torso and stomach, studded with bits of detritus from the forest floor and threads from his shirt. Shannon inhaled sharply as she saw it. It was a miracle that Rafe had not already bled to death.

  Her hands shaking, she snapped open the case that Drake had given her and together, she and Granda worked as fast as they could to clean her mate's terrible wound.

  Rafe wouldn't stop bleeding, and it frightened her. She wanted to skip the preparations and just begin healing him, but Granda had often warned of the dire consequences of doing this, especially for a gut wound…infection and great pain and suffering, often leading to sepsis that even antibiotics couldn't cure.

  So they rinsed and dabbed, rinsed and dabbed, as a red stream of blood-infused saline solution ran steadily down Rafe's sides and soaked into the ground.

  Finally, finally, they washed out the last speck of dirt.

  "All right, child," Granda said, his voice calm. "We can begin the healing now."

  Shannon pressed together the top edges of his wound, her hands red and sticky with Rafe's blood, and drew on her power. On Rafe's other side, Granda did the same thing with the bottom of the long gash.

  She was already exhausted from killing Sergeant Halfdan, and her power moved sluggishly through her. She pushed it frantically down her arms to her palms and began trying to visualize what Rafe's flesh looked like, uninjured and whole.

  Perversely, the more she wanted to heal him, the harder it was to center herself and concentrate on the actual act of healing.

  Her mind kept darting to all of the possible outcomes, and most of them ended with Rafe dead.

  Breathe, she reminded herself. Deep breaths to clear the mind and center the soul, like Granda taught me.

  Just when she was beginning to lose hope, the power finally began to flow through her. Beneath her hands, the terrible bleeding finally slowed to a bare trickle.

  It was working!

  Breathe.

  Heat moved through her, scalding her veins. And the edges of the long, deep cut began to knit together. Rafe twitched beneath her palms, the first real signs of life beyond his shallow breaths and the weak beating of his heart.

  Breathe.

  She moved her hands down an inch and repeated the action.

  After a timeless period, her fingers touched Granda's. Shannon opened her eyes, looked down, and saw the thin, dark pink line of a newly healed scar where the terrible wound had been.

  Panting, she sat back on her heels, lifted Rafe's head into her lap, and bent to cover his face with kisses, silent prayers of thanks filling her soul.

  "Ah, so it's like that, is it, a thaisce?" Granda said. "He's the one, is he?"

  Startled, Shannon looked up, remembering how worried she had once been about Granda finding out she had given her heart to a shifter. "Yes," she said simply. "He's my life and my heart."

  Instead of offering condemnation, Granda just smiled wearily at her, looking older and more tired than she had ever seen him. "Well, now, that's a fine thing, and I'm happy for you, child."

  Brett and Drake sat across from her, on Rafe's other side. She met their worried gazes with a brief smile, then looked around the stone circle, her attention caught by angry voices.

  Hal and Erik stood face-to-face inside the circle of boulders, their faces contorted in rage, still shouting at each other.

  Like all of the Beast Warriors, Erik was tall and muscular. But he was dwarfed by Hal, who towered head and shoulders above him, as he did with everyone, even Rafe.

  The surviving wolf shifters were frowning, and Shannon saw they were still holding their guns and swords.

  Beyond them, stationed around the perimeter of the stone circle, stood the bear shifters: three huge bears, four men, one of whom Shannon recognized as Rafe's neighbor, Mr. Thorvald, and three tall, extremely fit-looking women.

  All of the bear shifters in human-shape carried rifles or shotguns and wore sword-belts. They held their guns trained on the wolf shifters.

  "Erik Redclaw isn't going to surrender?" she asked Brett, dismayed. "And what language a
re they speaking, anyway?"

  It sounded vaguely Germanic or maybe Scandinavian.

  "Old Norse, and he's working himself up to it," the big blond man said with wry smile. "Surrendering to the enemy is a huge stain on a Beast Warrior's honor, so Erik's making sure that Hal understands that Wolf Team will fight to the death if he orders it, and they'll take all of the bear shifters here with them, guns or no."

  "That doesn't sound like surrender talk to me," Shannon said.

  She stroked Rafe's tangled golden hair, smoothing it back from his face, picking bits of leaf and cedar needles out of it. She had come so close to losing him…and all because he had been willing to sacrifice himself to save her!

  He was still deeply unconscious, and underneath his tan, his face was bleached of color. He looked like a corpse, and she kept taking his pulse, finding it weak but steady.

  Oh, my love, it's going to take some time for you to recover from all that blood loss. And then I'm going to make you swear never to do anything that stupid again. I couldn't bear to lose you!

  "It's a face-saving thing," Drake said with disgust. "They have to spend a while shouting insults at each other and comparing dick sizes—" he shot a mortified glance at Shannon "—uh, I mean, proving that neither of them is a weakling, before they can start the real negotiation."

  Brett chuckled. "Yeah, it's a real dick-measuring contest, all right. Erik's trying to prove that he's still got something left to bargain with and that if he and his men do lay down their arms, it's because they've negotiated a truce with Hal rather than an unconditional surrender."

  Shannon looked at Hal. His face, under the mane of white-blond hair, was reddened with what looked like genuine anger. "Do you really think that's an act? Because Hal's frightening me."

  Brett shrugged. "Well, Hal's definitely in a mood. With him, though, it's hard to tell whether he's really righteously indignant about Erik's incursion into bear shifter territory or if he's just setting the stage for driving a hard bargain."

  "Shannon, child," Granda said softly. "Are you all right, then? They didn't hurt you?"

  Separated by Redclaw's men during their long hike to the stone circle, Granda and Shannon hadn’t had the chance to exchange news.

  She shook her head and reached out to clasp Granda's hands. "I'm fine. What about you? And there I was hoping and praying that they hadn't gotten you, too!"