Alpha Bear Protector (Awakened Shifters Book 1)

by Keri Hudson

  Alpha Bear Protector

  Keri Hudson

   Copyright 2019 by Keri Hudson - All rights reserved.

  In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.

  Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher.

  Alpha Bear Protector

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Other books by Keri Hudson

  CHAPTER ONE

  The roar of the cars’ engines echoed over the Terrebonne swamps outside of Houma, Louisiana, monk parakeets bursting out of the western soapberry trees. The tires screeched taking the soft corners, and the tires burned on the long stretches, punctuated by gunfire.

  Bang-bang! Bang!

  Voices screamed from inside one of the cars, but he could hardly make it out. The cars were coming close fast, and Marcus Reilly ducked down to stay out of sight. But he knew whoever was in those cars, they weren’t going to be concentrating on the tall grass on the side of the highway.

  Bang! Pop! The left back tire burst, and the car in front started skidding in a wriggling pattern as the driver panicked, overcompensating.

  Marcus knew what was going to happen next.

  The car in front, a green hatchback, skidded and finally spun out, the passengers screaming so loud they could be heard over the screeching tires. But the car kept flying forward, the red pickup truck with the gunmen close behind.

  The hatchback’s driver almost regained control of the car, but the pickup rammed into it from behind. The car lurched forward and turned, but the energy from the truck sent the hatchback flipping over on its side.

  The truck backed off and let the hatchback roll over once until it landed on its tires again. But the engine was dead and the doors flew open. Bullets flew at the hatchback from the two men, just climbing out of the pickup truck. They wore torn clothes, hair and beards scraggly and unkempt. They howled with delight as they fired, one with a rifle and the other a handgun.

  The driver of the hatchback stepped out straight into a hail of gunfire tearing into his chest, red wounds bursting from his head, his guts. He flinched and twitched before falling to the gravelly side of that quiet, lonesome highway.

  But the passenger, a woman, had both the man and the car between her and her attackers, and that gave her time and space enough to run across the highway and into the tall grass on the other side of the highway.

  Bang, bang-bang!

  “Naw, you id’jit!! We bag her an’ take her live! You gon’ waste a fine woman like ‘at?”

  “But… she g’tting’ away!”

  “She won’t get far in’e swamp. Get the rope, let’s go git ’er!”

  One of them crossed back to the truck, pulled out a coil of rope, and tossed it over one arm. The two men lowered their weapons and crossed the highway and stepped prowling in the woods. The woman had disappeared among a thicket of cypress trees, but she knew nothing of how to travel through a bayou.

  Marcus knew it wasn’t a matter of catching her, but of catching her before she got herself killed.

  The girl walked through the mossy muck and Spanish moss, mosquitos causing her to slap her neck, her arms. Marcus could sense her fear and frustration as she scrambled further into the mire, feet sinking deeper with every step.

  She looked back, long, red curls flipping over her pale, freckled shoulder, full breasts and strong body dewy with sweat in the humidity. She couldn't seem to help gaping with fear before turning to plunge herself deeper into the swamp.

  The men were getting closer, approaching with slower certainty, tracking her with ease. Marcus didn’t recognize them, but he did try to stay out of the humans’ affairs. Sometimes, he just didn’t see a choice. When predators came onto his territory, they risked his wrath.

  And there was a pile of dead shifters and humans alike which could attest to his distinct lack of mercy.

  The girl climbed over an upraised cypress root and into a muddy patch. She fell with a splash and tried to push herself up, looking around with a new fear in her eyes. She flailed a bit, letting out a strained whine as she tried to lift her legs out of the heavy mud, clearly unable to do so.

  “Stuck,” she mumbled, trapped not far from where Marcus crouched, hidden. “I’m stuck! I... I can’t move!”

  The two men came strolling up to the mud pit, slowly, clearly savoring the moment. “Well, well, look whats we gots h’ya!”

  The girl looked up at them, eyes wide with terror, lips quivering. “Help,” she called out, then even louder, “hhhheeeeeelllllllllllp! Somebody help me pleeeeeeaaaaassssssse!”

  “Ain’t no point’n yellin’, missy. This highway don’t see much traffic, an’ there ain’t nobody livin’ roun’ ’ere fer miles.”

  “An’ that fancy boy toy a’yer’ns ain’t g’wine do shit!” They shared a mean giggle, the woman wriggling to climb out of the mud. “Looks like our little pretty done got herself stuck! Dickie, why don’ ‘choo help ‘er out?”

  “Will do, Frankie!” Dickie holstered the gun and slid the rope off his arm. He started tying one end into a wide lasso.

  “Hhhhheeeeeeeeellllllllllp!”

  “I’m hurryin’, gal!” They laughed again, Dickie stepping closer to the mud pit and throwing the loop out. It landed over the girl’s head, but she reached up and swatted it away. “Nah you jus’ quit ‘cher actin’ up, girl, s’gone be worse fer ya.”

  Another toss put the lasso around the girl, falling successfully into the water around her. Dicky pulled it tight and the loop closed around her torso, just under her breasts. She gasped and pulled at the rope as Dickie hauled her out of the mud, and into their clutches.

  “No,” she muttered, a fearful whine and tears pushing out of her frightened face as Dickie pulled her up. Mud caked her shapely body, long legs and shorts making her a gorgeous mess.

  “Oh yeah, baby!” Dickie said to Frankie. “We done had a good day fishin’, ain’t we, Frankie?”

  “Sure done, Dickie, sure done. Let’s reel ‘er in an’ tie her up ‘fore someone drive by.”

  Marcus could smell their aggression, their filthy musk clinging to the humidity. The smell of rotting teeth and flatulence told him that his adversaries were weak, suffering from malnutrition.

  They pulled the woman from the mud and she quickly tried to run. But they had her from each side. Frankie pulled her arms behind her back and wrapped the rope around
her wrists, tying them tight as her fingers reached out, feeble. There was length enough to pull the rope up behind her head and wrap it around her mouth, cleaving her jaws open and pinning her tongue down. He tied the rope gag tight behind her head.

  “All right,” Frankie said, “let’s get ‘er back to Big Jim.”

  Big Jim? Marcus thought. But there was no more time to watch and wait. He’d already shifted and he’d seen as much as he needed to see.

  Marcus had been still and silent, crouched in the tall grass, so none of the three humans saw him coming. Marcus threw out a terrible roar, mourning doves fluttering out of the grass, the three screaming in shock and terror.

  “Holy shit! Bear!”

  Marcus stood up on his hind legs to his full height of over eight feet. His black fur bristled, white fangs flashing out of his pink gums, blue eyes fixed on the two men. His massive frame dominated their attention, their little mouths open. Dickie grabbed the bound girl and pulled her back, drawing his pistol and firing, but the girl started to kick at him behind her. Deflecting her assault, he had no time to fire on Marcus.

  Frankie aimed his rifle to fire, shaking in his grip. Marcus charged the man, one massive swipe of his left paw knocking the rifle out of his hand and sending it flying into the swamp. Frankie pulled out a hunting knife from a sheath on his belt and grunted, “Kill you, Grizzly fuckin’ Adams!”

  Marcus bit down on Frankie’s arm and clamped down, teeth sinking through his skin and meat and quickly to the bone.

  Crunch!

  Frankie screamed, high-pitched and desperate, stricken hand letting go of the knife, his other hand landing little punches onto Marcus’ face to no affect.

  Crunch!

  With a shake of his head, Marcus sent Frankie stumbling into the muddy pit. “Shoot it, Dickie, shoot that damned thing’s head off!”

  Dickie was still struggling with his captive, and she was obviously more cumbersome as a hostage than he could afford. He threw her to the side and took aim at Marcus.

  Bang, bang-bang!

  But Dickie was obviously panicked, and the shots were near misses. Marcus roared and leapt, his huge, hairy body nearly flying as he pounced. His meaty paws found Dickie’s chest and pushed him back. Dickie fell backward into the water. Marcus stepped down onto Dickie’s chest, pushing him under the water. Dickie flailed wildly, punching at Marcus’ thick foreleg pinning him, pulling at his thick black hair, legs kicking into Marcus’ haunches and hind legs. His struggling finally died away, bubbles rising up from the muddy water over his head.

  Marcus turned to the other man, who was trying to push himself out of the water, his stumped arm pulsing blood out into the mud. Marcus looked him over, knowing the man had no chance of survival.

  So Marcus shifted back to his human form, a swift transition in which his hairy hide was replaced by skin with a light complexion, his posture straightening, his snout returning to a human countenance.

  He stood naked in that swamp, turning to approach Frankie, who was bleeding out in the mire. “Big Jim,” Marcus asked, “where do I find him?”

  But Frankie just lay there, shaking his head and looking at Marcus in disbelief. His stumped arm fell into the filthy water, his head falling back, slowly sinking into the water before it covered him, bubbles rising up, only the faintest struggle stirring the water as he sank in.

  Marcus turned to the girl. Her eyes were fixed on him, round with disbelief. Marcus turned and took a step toward her. But she only gasped and passed out, falling into the water with a muddy splash.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Marcus watched the girl as she slowly came to. She was still filthy, caked with mud and moss. But her beauty still radiated though the grime, despite the bruises on her pretty face and smooth, pale arms. He’d never had a woman in his shack before, the decor not nearly up to a female’s standard: wooden furniture, torn wool drapes over the grimy glass windowpanes.

  She stirred slowly, wincing as if in some bad dream before consciousness finally roused her again. Marcus had retrieved his tunic, folded over his shoulders and tied around his waist. It was a durable and suitable garment for the swamp, easy to discard and retrieve in the event of urgent necessity.

  She groaned a bit, then flinched and gasped, green eyes shooting open. She looked around, startled at her surroundings, checking and double-checking where she was, who she was with, what had happened to her.

  She looked around and screamed again, “Hheeeeeeeelllllllllp!” But her throat was shredded from screaming before—no doubt from thirst as well, Marcus reasoned.

  “It’s all right,” he said, holding his flattened hand up to calm her. “I’m not going to hurt you, just take it easy.” The girl looked at the bayou around her, one hand wringing the wrist of the other. He asked, “You remember what happened?”

  She was clearly taking some time to review the facts. “I… they were chasing us. And they shot Pete, and… and you …” New fear burst in her face, another scream ripping out of her parched throat.

  “Shshshshsh, you’ll bring in the gators, we don’t want that. They’re ornery enough these days as it is.”

  She looked at Marcus, sinking into a frightened silence. She looked around, finding herself on the bed. She pulled the sheets up over her muddy, naked legs. “Why am I in your bed?”

  “Would you rather have slept on the floor?”

  She looked around the shack, a single room with a free-standing iron stove, crackling with a fresh fire. “Not really… talk about needing a woman’s touch. What am I doing here?”

  “I couldn't just leave you passed out in the swamp. But… what were you doing out there? On the highway, I mean. Getting shot at… who were those men?”

  “I… I don’t know them, in particular. But we were… Pete and I, I mean, we were looking for his sister. She disappeared from Houma a week or so ago, we were… well, we were snooping around, hoping we’d find her. The local law was no good.”

  “No,” Marcus agreed, “no good at all.”

  She looked him over. “You’re a… a man?”

  Marcus cracked a little smile. “I am.”

  “Not… not a monster?”

  “Well, I suppose that depends on who… or what you ask.” She looked on, tilting her head in quiet confusion. Marcus explained, “I’m a shifter, imbued with a special kind of… duality.”

  “Duality?”

  “Man and bear,” he said.

  She seemed to be struggling with the simple act of accepting the undeniable truth of Marcus’ true nature. “Like a werewolf, or a… a werebear?”

  Marcus spat out an amused huff. “Those are… that’s just human lore. I’m the truth that lore is based on.”

  She shook her head, rubbing her forehead. “I... I don't understand. Were you bit by a sick bear or something? Or was it… radioactive?”

  “You really do watch a lot of movies, don't you?”

  “Well, I’m sorry,” her voice took an aggravated whine. “I’ve never… it’s not every day that I… I mean, c’mon!”

  Marcus chuckled and nodded. “I understand. I try to stay out of sight. And the folks that do believe, well, they’d just as soon not see me comin’ around.”

  “Why, are you... evil, or something?”

  “Do I seem evil?”

  She looked Marcus over, clearly deliberating. “I guess not, but… sort of. I mean, you wear a burlap sack and live in a shack in the swamp. Not to mention, well, turning into a fucking bear!”

  “I’m sure you’re used to a different type of man.”

  “Yeah, um, well, just about any type would be a different type, don’t you think?”

  “I suppose I do, yes.”

  The girl’s eyes combed Marcus’ body, legs and arms naked and rippling with muscle. “So, was it a… a bear moon or something?”

  Marcus shook his head. “I can shift at will… we all can.”

  Her pretty green eyes widened even further, and she leaned forward a bit. “You a
ll? How many are there of you?”

  “Can’t say. We’re in every corner of the world, but we stay out of sight, as I said.” She nodded. Giving it some thought, Marcus asked, “His sister?”

  “Hhmmm?”

  “You said his sister. Who was the man to you?”

  “A… a good friend, that’s all. I was a passing acquaintance of his sister’s; he contacted me first thing when he got off the plane.”

  “And you don’t know anything about her disappearance?” The girl just shook her head. “I see. My name’s Marcus, by the way. Marcus Reilly.”

  After a skeptical pause, she said, “Sabrina Parks.”

  Marcus gave her a friendly nod. “Okay, well, there’s a shower out back, Sabrina. We can clean those clothes too.” Reading her trepidation, he went on, “Or you can, however you like. I’ve got some smoked gator meat, and I’ll see about getting you home. Where is that?”

  “Just in Houma. What do you think happened to my friend’s sister?”

  Marcus sighed, reviewing the possibilities. “Not sure,” he said. “But it could be that, well, she’s likely dead.”

  “What? Dead? How do you mean? Why? What are you talking about?”

  “On the one hand, could be your average, garden-variety rape and murder; by the look of those boys, that’s what I’d guess. Sometimes they keep their prisoners, that’s true—use ‘em as breeders, servants. We can start there.”

  “Start there?”

  “But if word gets around that we’re looking for her, they’ll probably just cut her head off and dump her in the drink. Depends on how much they value her, how much trouble she gives them.”

  Sabrina’s pale face seemed to get even paler as she raised her frail fingers to cover her quivering lips. “Oh my God…”

  “But there’s another possibility.”

  “What, that she was eaten by an alligator?”

  Marcus gave that some thought. “Unlikely, but… three possibilities. I was thinking about… the other shifters.”

  “Other shifters,” Sabrina repeated, “here?”