Alpha Unleashed

by Kathy Lyon

  “You were a bear, so I’m pretty sure you’re the winner in surprising changes.”

  He looked at her calmly, analyzing her features and stance. Her eyes were steady as they met his gaze, but her hands were twitchy and her nostrils kept flaring as her breath came in and out in a short, tight tempo. Not quite panicked, but certainly not comfortable. Since she’d picked up her gun again, he’d do well to keep her heading toward calm, not terrified.

  So he shrugged and was pleased when the motion didn’t hurt too badly. “I can explain.”

  “Really? Have at it soldier. Give me the details.”

  He frowned. “Um, what details did you want?”

  “You an army experiment?”

  “No.”

  “Bit by a radioactive spider or something?”

  “That’s a comic book.”

  She arched a brow and he huffed out a breath. “I was born this way.”

  “As a bear?”

  “Human. All human normal. My first shift was at sixteen.”

  She crinkled her nose. “You make it sound like a shift at a donut shop. You mean you turned into a bear?” It was half statement, half question, so he answered it.

  “Yes. Ripped my favorite jeans. Hurt like hell. Wandered until I was in Gladwin.”

  She frowned. “Where?”

  “Middle Michigan. State park. Here.” He held up his hand in the shape of Michigan and pointed an inch below the base of his index finger.

  “So it’s a genetic thing? Your parents can do it, your—”

  Her questions were making his head hurt. He was trying to do too much too fast. He couldn’t remember how to act. How to answer. And he was starting to think too much. Which meant—oddly enough—that his language ability was about to deteriorate as he tried to function as a man and not a bear. “Not automatic. Can’t say more.” He pushed to his feet, his coordination awkward.

  Don’t think about it. Just do it.

  He balanced on his feet while she scrambled backward. And though he tried to appear casual, he kept a close eye on where she put that gun. Fortunately, it went back into her purse-satchel after she’d thumbed on the safety. Jesus, she was just now putting on the safety?

  He started walking to his front door. His gait was slow and jerky, but eventually it smoothed out. He needed to keep moving to remember how to be a man. He’d never gone bear for so long before, and a sliver of alarm skated down his spine at the realization. Ten months as a bear? Back in July, he’d planned to be bear for a week. Why hadn’t he gone insane? Why hadn’t someone hunted him down as a feral?

  He looked at the woods behind his cabin. Out there was the female he had been tracking. The memory held equal parts temptation and horror. What had he been doing?

  And yet as he looked at the woods, his steps faltered. The longing to shift back to grizzly hit him square in the chest, less painful but no less potent than the slugs he’d taken ten minutes before. There was a sweetness out in the woods. A song that he couldn’t hear any more and he wanted it like a man wanted that perfect feeling he couldn’t quite remember. And as he stood there staring, the woman’s voice cut into his thoughts. Her tone was hard and sarcastic, but not enough to cover her fear.

  “You’re not going furry again, are you? I still have rounds left in my gun.”

  He turned slowly, his eyes narrowing as he again picked out the details of her face and body. Minute details, the more specific the better because it forced him to process information like a man. Her brows were drawn down in a frown. Her shoulders were tight with fear, but determination glinted in her narrowed eyes and the set of her feet. She was equally prepared for fight or flight, and one of her hands rested inside her purse, no doubt on the butt of her gun.

  “You saw a bear turn into a man. Why aren’t you freaking out?”

  A dull flush crept up her cheeks. “I adapt quickly.”

  “No one’s that flexible.” She couldn’t know. Shifters were a really big secret and bear-shifters even more so. Sure, someone was always catching sight of the werewolves, but that’s because there were so many damned dogs. Then understanding hit. She’d already been told. Because her brother hadn’t kept the secret. “Victor has a big mouth.”

  She shifted awkwardly, but her gaze remained steady. “I didn’t believe him. I thought he was hallucinating until…” She swallowed and gestured to where Simon had been lying on the ground in a pool of his own grizzly blood. “I thought a bear was attacking me. I didn’t think it was you. I didn’t…”No one believed until they saw. And some not even then. He growled, a very animal sound. And when the noise felt too good inside him, he abruptly shifted to words. “Go home. Go back to Victor. Tell him I’m in a shit-ton of trouble because he talked.” And because Simon hadn’t reported that Victor knew he was a shifter.

  “I will,” she said. Her voice taking on an edge of panic as he made it to the front porch. “But only if you come with me.”

  He tried to think of an appropriate human expression. He found it a moment later when he turned to look straight at her and then rolled his eyes. Then in case the message wasn’t clear, he added words. “No. Fucking. Way.”

  “You have to,” she said as she rushed to follow him up the steps. “He’s turning into one of you.” Her voice shook as she said it, but the words rang with conviction.

  He ignored it as he unscrewed the case around the porch light and pulled out the key that was taped inside. A moment later he was unlocking the door, but she gripped his elbow. Her fingers were tight hard points, but he’d just survived five rounds. Fingers were nothing.

  “I’m serious. He’s changing into…into a bear or something. You have to help him.”

  “It doesn’t work that way.”

  “Really?” she pressed. “Are you sure?”

  “Of course—”

  “Because this looks like a freaking bear to me.”

  She pushed her cell phone into his face. It took him a second to focus on the screen, but he managed to pick out the details of his once best friend. Vic was crouched against a wall, his eyes wild and clearly terrified. And was his nose longer? The eyebrows were bushier, and no scissors had ever trimmed that beard. Vic was staring in horror at his left arm. It wasn’t human, but it damn sure wasn’t fully bear, either. It was thick and furry and came complete with a hairless paw and real claws.

  That couldn’t be real. It just couldn’t. It…

  Again, understanding clicked into place. “That’s makeup.” He shoved open his front door.

  “It’s true!” she cried as she tried to follow him.

  He stopped her, his hand flat and implacable right on her…Um, wow. He’d forgotten what human breasts felt like. His palm was higher up on her chest, but he felt the curve of both her breasts and was startled by how distracting they were. And that pissed him off even more.

  “Go home. This wasn’t funny.”

  “This is real and Vic’s dying. Your best friend is dying!”

  “Bullshit.” He shoved her hard, right in the center of her chest. She stumbled backward. Not far enough to land on her ass, but enough that he could slam the door right in her face.

  And this kind of nonsense was exactly why he’d been a bear for the last ten months. No one screwed with bears. No one banged on their doors or forced them to think. And because humans—every single one—were assholes.

  Chapter 2

  Alyssa barely caught herself before tumbling onto her ass. Which meant she had no time at all to catch the door before it closed with a resounding thud.

  “Oh no, no, no! You did not just slam a door in my face!” Except, obviously, he had. But no way in hell had she driven all this way just to end with a shut door. She shoved forward and twisted the knob. To her shock, the thing swung open. How the hell had he forgotten to lock it? Didn’t matter. He was standing in the center of the living room staring at a pile of mail that looked like Mount Everest. “Look, Vic is a dick, no question, but he wasn’t lying about this,” s
he said as she waved her phone in the air.

  Simon wasn’t looking. In truth, he just stood there, all bare-assed and frozen. Was that stillness a military thing? Or an animal thing? Didn’t matter. She walked around him and got straight in his face.

  “Vic is dying. Don’t you guys swear to defend each other until death or something? He’s your friend and he needs you.”

  His gaze focused on her. His green eyes shifted then narrowed, and the build in intensity felt like it took eons while her breath caught and held. How could eyes be scary? Like they were picking apart her face piece by piece and memorizing every detail.

  “You swore an oath,” she tried, her voice weaker than she wanted.

  “That’s only in the movies.” His voice was thick and growly. No other word for it. Like a bear with a sore paw.

  “You came to our house.”

  “Don’t care. Shifting is not like that.”

  “You so sure about that?” she challenged. Then she thumbed on her phone and pulled up a news video. Something about a strange illness killing people all over Detroit. And that some died grossly disfigured. There was only one picture and it was grainy, but it clearly showed a man with a dog face except for human ears.

  “Bullshit,” he repeated.

  “You keep saying that, but the news doesn’t lie.”

  He arched a look at her, and she felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment. Accusations of fake news were everywhere, but this wasn’t fake. She’d seen it herself. She’d seen what her brother had become.

  “I’m not lying,” she stressed. “It really happened, and Vic says you understand it.”

  “Vic is wrong.” He turned away and stomped to the kitchen where he stopped in the middle and frowned. A moment later he went to the refrigerator and opened it. She trailed after him, watching while she scrambled for some argument that would persuade him. And all the while, he just stared into his empty refrigerator. There was nothing inside. Not even beer or stale bread, which were the only things her brother ever bought.

  Meanwhile, his naked body was illuminated by the refrigerator light to the point that she could see every cut line of his body, every ropy muscle, every bony ridge, and an abundance of hair that ought to have repulsed her, but honestly, she thought was sexy as hell. She’d never gone for the hairless guys, and God, he was a ruggedly cut he-man if ever there was one.

  And damn her libido for noticing something like that when her brother’s life was at stake. And double damn him for looking better than he did in her fantasies. The ones that had started nearly two years ago when she’d watched him play basketball shirtless with her brother.

  “Just come see him,” she said, hating the pleading note in her voice. “You promised to do me a favor. This is it. Just come with me. See for yourself.”

  “A contract made under duress is not valid.” His voice was flat and he still hadn’t moved.

  “Food is not going to magically appear in there. So turn your hairy ass around and look at me!”

  He straightened, his expression clearly startled. Then he did indeed turn around. Sadly, full frontal was no less enticing than his chiseled, not-really-hairy ass. Especially since the man was hung very nicely.

  “You are upset,” he said.

  Well, duh.

  “You believe Vic’s lie.” He gave her a pitying look. “He’s tricked you many times before.”

  Yes, her brother could be a first-class dick, and he loved nothing else than to get her all riled up just so he could laugh his ass off at her. But this wasn’t one of those times. “It’s real,” she repeated. “He’s scared shitless and he sent me to find you.”

  He lifted his hands, palm outward. “I can’t help him.”

  He had a point, especially since looking as he did now—naked and stained with his own blood—it didn’t look like he could help himself, much less her brother.

  “Vic said you would understand this.”

  “I don’t understand how to turn on the plumbing right now.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “I have been too long in the wild.” He dropped his hand and his gaze focused past her to stare out the back window.

  Oh hell. There was longing on his face. A clear need to go animal again, but she couldn’t let that happen. “That’s not good for you.” She said it as a statement, though it was really more of a guess.

  “So they say.” It was clear he wasn’t sure.

  The last thing she needed was another confused man on her hands, but she’d be damned if her brother’s only hope—even if it was a Hail Mary pass—didn’t help her. But first he needed to get his head on straight.

  “You need a shower and clothes. Food, too, unless it’s normal for your ribs to stick out like that.” Just where the hell did all that mass go to when he shifted back to human? He’d been at least four hundred pounds as a cranky grizzly. Now he looked like a lean two-ten with zero body fat.

  “Clothes,” he said as he looked down at himself. Holy hell, was he just now realizing he’d been wandering around naked? He looked back at her, a sheepish expression on his face. “You never said a thing.”

  Like she was going to convince the eye candy to cover up? “I had other things on my mind. Like digging bullets out of you.”

  He pulled at the skin on his chest. “One bullet. All healed.”

  “Great. Now get clean and dressed. Got pizza delivery out here?” She figured the more he did normal human things, the better for him and by extension, for her and Vic. “Never mind. I’ll just order ahead and we’ll pick it up on the way.”

  He shook his head. “I am not ready to interact with humans.”

  No shit, Sherlock. “That’s what I’m here for. And, in case you were wondering, I’m human, too, and you’re doing just fine.”

  He tilted his head and arched a brow. It was a strangely awkward gesture. As if he was trying to remember how to give a skeptical look and had to force his features into position. Even so, she found it oddly charming.

  “I’ll help,” she said, gesturing to the stairs. “I’ll get the plumbing working. Please tell me I don’t need to scrub bear off your back.”

  His lips curved. “The bear is inside. No amount of scrubbing will get it off.” The way he said it made her think he’d once tried to do it, but she didn’t have time to delve into that. She had to get back to Vic, and he was all the way down in Detroit.

  “Whatever. Just get moving.” She fit words to action, putting her hands on him enough to push him toward the stairs. She was a strong woman, but she couldn’t have moved him if he hadn’t allowed it. And for a moment there, she was pretty sure he wasn’t going to cooperate. But something had changed from when he’d slammed the door in her face and now. Something inside this cabin that made him a little malleable.

  So when she pushed, he shifted his weight and began to walk. She kept her hands on him, guiding him though he didn’t need it. But when else was she going to get her hands on a naked him? Just because he’d lived in her fantasies for years didn’t mean that he felt anything toward her. Hell, he hadn’t even remembered her at first. And wasn’t that a blow to her ego?

  The upstairs was simple. Two bedrooms and a large bathroom. She pushed him in the bathroom first. Then while he narrowed his eyes at his reflection, she turned on the bathtub faucet. The water ran—good—but it was pretty cold, so he’d have to wait for it to heat up. Meanwhile, she turned back to him and watched him stroke his hand over his cheeks.

  “I never need to shave after a shift. And my hair is always like this.” He brushed his fingers through his short, military-style cut. “Even before I enlisted, I always came back like this.”

  Well that was interesting, but she had no idea what to say about it, so she checked the water again. Toasty warm.

  “If you’ve been gone for months, who’s gotten the mail and kept the pipes from freezing?”

  “Manny takes care of that.” He sniffed the air. “The water’s clean and hot.”

  “Yeah. So get in
. I’ll look for a towel.” There was soap and shampoo in the shower, though a fine coating of dust was on both. Pretty clear no one had used this shower in months.

  He obeyed slowly, stepping in as if he were in a daze. But once the water hit him, he gasped and his eyes shuttered as his head tilted back. He was facing directly into the spray and he seemed to stretch his broad chest as if to catch the water.

  He didn’t have to say a word for her to realize that this was something important to him. Some type of visceral memory that engulfed him. He stood there, water beating at his chest, and he deeply inhaled the mist, which carried the scent of woods and man to her nostrils.

  God, what a sight. She felt like she was peeking in on primal man in a moment of joyous oneness with water. It made no sense, but she felt the elemental draw all the way to her womb. Her mouth dried and she stood mesmerized as he slowly tilted his head forward and down. The water hit his face and then the top of his head, running in rivulets down his body. And he breathed. Deep inhales that expanded his shoulders and his barrel chest, while she went wet with lust.

  What kind of perv stood there watching a man shower? Especially when he was deep in whatever experience was going on in his head?

  Her apparently, because she couldn’t force herself to leave.

  And then he reached out. The motion was automatic because he didn’t look, didn’t even open his eyes. His hand connected with the soap and he grabbed it, spinning it slowly as he created a rich lather.

  Irish Spring. She remembered that scent from when he’d visited so long ago. It became permanently linked with her fantasies about him, and now she was watching one of her favorites play out right in front of her. If only she dared strip down to join him under the spray. She’d slide against his lathered chest as he pressed her against the tile wall. And when they were both thoroughly slick, he’d lift her knee and impale her. She’d come right then. And she’d keep coming while he pistoned into her. And then he’d erupt just like in her fantasies while pressing kisses into her neck and whispering words of devotion.