Alpha Bear Protector (Awakened Shifters Book 1)

by Keri Hudson

  “Jesus Christ!”

  “Well,” Marcus said, “god of the swamps, anyway.”

  He stepped on the gas and the rental car sped them forward and to safety—temporarily, at least.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The gun shop had an old cigar store Indian standing out front, and inside the place smelled of holster leather and gun cleaner. The man behind the counter smiled to see Marcus coming in with two women, but he wasn’t there to entertain anyone.

  Rachel said, “Are you sure about this? I’ve never shot a gun in my life. I don’t even believe in guns!”

  Marcus asked, “You don’t believe they exist? Take a look around you.”

  “No, I mean, all the violence in the country right now, shootings, I just think there are too many guns floating around, they’re too easy to get.”

  “And too easy to lose,” Sabrina said.

  Marcus shot her a look. “Cop’s daughter.”

  Sabrina shrugged. “There’s no putting the genie back into the bottle, that’s all I’m saying.”

  “I’m sure about that,” Marcus said in a low tone, almost a whisper as he turned to Rachel. “But you need to know how to shoot.”

  Sabrina said to him, “I thought you said you can’t get shot.”

  Marcus shook his head. “When in human form, you can put any one of us on the ground for good. After a shift, we’re… stronger, more resilient. I took a slug three inches deep not long ago, and when I shifted back it popped out like a ripe zit. But we’ll come upon them in their human form first, and she’ll need the protection.”

  Sabrina clearly gave it some thought. “And if you… or they have… shifted?”

  Marcus sighed. “Everything that lives can be killed, Sabrina. Kill a shifter, your best shot is right through the eyes. Think about a shepherd, David from the bible, let’s say. He was able to kill Goliath that way because it was the way he, and all shepherds, used to repel predators. He’d use a stone to kill wolves by hitting ‘em right on the forehead. Bone’s thin, hardly any muscle. Anywhere else on a wolf, a rock would bounce right off; even more so a bear. Their most vulnerable spot, either animal, is the face. Both of you remember that.”

  Marcus led them to the counter, the wide man behind it covered with tattoos of skulls, bald eagles, American flags.

  “What can I do ya for?”

  Marcus said, “Ice cream sundaes—vanilla, chocolate, strawberry.”

  The dealer chuckled. “I got some tasty treats fer ya.” He pulled out a big, black handgun with a long barrel. “For Daddy, a forty-four magnum, chop a man in two.”

  Marcus picked up the gun—heavy, solid, lethal. He checked the sights—straight, nice resistance on the trigger.

  The dealer brandished another handgun from the glass case and set it in front of Sabrina. “For Mommy, a thirty-eight snub nose. Nickel-plated, stop anything that moves, really nice action to it, good for the ladies.”

  Sabrina picked up the gun, looking it over and seeming less than intimidated.

  The dealer took one step to his side to stand in front of Rachel. He bent down and put a small, silver automatic on the glass. “For the little one—”

  “I’m almost thirty,” Rachel said.

  The dealer chuckled and nodded. “Colt twenty-five automatic, holds six shots in the clip, one in the chamber.” Rachel picked up the gun, fear and curiosity in her eyes. “Methinks the lady likes.”

  Marcus asked the dealer, “How much?”

  ***

  Marcus drove them out to the swamps outside of New Orleans. He looked around, certain to be far from anything and anyone. A few fine, fat cypress trees stood at the other end of a grassy, wet field. They stepped away from the car, each with a loaded gun and a pocketful of bullets, Rachel with an extra clip in hers.

  Marcus said, “Okay, the thing about shooting a firearm is that you have to be one with the gun. If it’s foreign to you, it’s your adversary. Make it your ally, it won’t let you down. Just think of it as an extension of your arm, just another part of your hand.”

  Marcus raised his hand and shot twice into the nearby cypress, chunks of bark flying out. “Your aim should be calm, reasonable, considered.” Two more shots formed a tight cluster in the center of the tree, the trunk creaking, ready to fall. Marcus glanced at the massive handgun in his fist. “Thing really has some punch.”

  Marcus shot twice more, emptying the Magnum, the tree finally falling over.

  Sabrina stepped up, cocky, smiling, hips cocked just so. “You don’t have to teach me how to shoot.” Sabrina raised the gun, aimed at one of the other trees, and squinted an eye.

  Bang, bang-bang-bang-bang-bang!

  Sabrina stepped back, raising her gun and brandishing a cocky smile.

  Marcus nodded. “Father was a cop.”

  “Got that right.”

  Marcus stepped over to Rachel. She said, “Like I told you, I’ve never shot a gun in my life.”

  “It’s one of the easiest things in the world to do.”

  “Then why don’t you carry one?”

  “Normally, I don’t need it. If I were alone, I probably wouldn’t.”

  Sabrina said, “But you’re not alone.”

  Marcus looked at her and smiled, offering a little nod. “That’s right, I’m not.” He turned back to Rachel. “Raise up the gun, aim it, and squeeze the trigger.”

  Rachel turned to face them. “Is the safety on?”

  Marcus ducked to avoid the path of the gun. “No, it’s off! Lord, woman!”

  “Rachel—”

  Rachel turned toward Sabrina, gun pointed recklessly in front of her. But Sabrina deftly scooped the gun out of her hand and said, “Never point a gun unless you’re ready to shoot it, understand?”

  Rachel nodded and Sabrina gave her back the gun, letting her aim it at the third cypress tree.

  “Don’t pull at it,” Sabrina told Rachel, “squeeze it.”

  Rachel aimed slowly, carefully, but she was wincing, head turned away with trepidation before she pulled the trigger. The lone shot echoed over the bayou, the third tree unblemished.

  “Try again,” Marcus said.

  Rachel winced and trembled, shooting again; another miss. She cranked off a few more shots, the gun bucking in her grip, no bullets finding the cypress trunk. Rachel looked at Marcus and then at Sabrina. “What? It’s far away!”

  Grass crackled around them, and Marcus and the women looked around. Marcus reached into his pocket for more bullets, Sabrina doing the same.

  Rachel asked, “What? What?”

  But by then the Cajuns were already creeping out of the grass around them, more than six, three of them armed. Marcus knew then that the lupes had organized to a greater degree than he’d known, and even more than he’d anticipated after putting the pieces together. What worried Marcus was what he still didn’t know. But one thing he did know, as the Cajuns closed in, was that some or all of them were about to die.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  But there was still a chance that these weren’t shifters, just locals riled up by the gunfire. So Marcus said, “Sorry to disturb you boys, we were just tryin’ out these new guns, that’s all. Didn’t mean no harm.”

  The Cajuns looked at one another and then back at Marcus, their eyes finding and lingering on Sabrina and Rachel. But they said nothing.

  Sabrina seemed to be thinking the same thing Marcus was. “We’ll just drive off, be on our way.” She cocked her gun. “That’s the safest thing for everybody.”

  Nice one, Marcus didn’t say.

  After another long pause, Rachel shouted, “Why don’t you douchebag bumpkins get the hell out of our way! Haven’t you got cousins to screw?”

  They looked at each other, then broke out laughing. But that was no proof of their true intent, one way or the other. But when one of them said, “Don’t hurt the women,” Marcus knew what he had to do. Forsaking the clothes, Marcus shifted immediately, his massive ursine self replacing its human counter
part, clothes falling in torn scraps, gun falling to the ground. Marcus let out a tremendous roar and the girls stepped back, Marcus able to smell Rachel’s fear and Sabrina’s willingness to fight.

  Three of the Cajuns shifted too, bodies transforming to their lupine forms. They were an instant trio of massive wolves, bigger than any found in the wild—five feet tall at the shoulders, massive heads with piercing yellow eyes, long snouts lined with sharp teeth dripping with saliva. They barked out in a hellish clamor and jumped at Marcus, three on one. In his peripheries, Sabrina and Rachel pulled away as the three shifters attacked him.

  One jumped square onto Marcus’ back, claws digging into his hide, jaws biting down hard onto the back of his neck. Marcus roared and rolled, the lupine shifter jumping off him seconds before being crushed. But he was quick to jump back in a counterattack just as Marcus stood up on his hind legs.

  Another lupe attacked Marcus’ leg, jaws locking tight and head shaking hard. Pain shot up Marcus’ leg, bursting out of his jaws in a tortured roar. He tried to shake the shifter loose, but he held tight while the third stood poised, ready to support the other two.

  The shifters assaulting Marcus were not the only combatants, and several others were overwhelming Sabrina and Rachel, each engaged in a struggle of her own. Sabrina swung the pistol butt-first to smash it into one Cajun’s forehead. He snapped to the side, but retained his footing and charged her, wrangling her flailing arms until they were pinned to her sides. Rachel’s gun still had bullets, but she failed to use them. One Cajun grabbed her from behind, holding her arms even while she held onto the gun.

  “Look out, Billy!”

  Bang, Rachel’s gun went off, bang! But no deaths occurred, only an increase in the frenzy of battle. Bang!

  Marcus swung at the shifters, digging deep trenches into their hides with his long, sharp claws. One hard swipe sent a lupe flying across the field, Sabrina and her adversary barely missing being struck.

  Marcus spun and threw another one hard and fast, flying into the shot-up wreckage of one of the cypress trees. Another lupe shifter attacked Marcus from the side, but a hard swipe ended the charge and his life.

  Sabrina was overtaken, one Cajun holding each of her arms as she struggled to free herself. Rachel was held from behind, her gun now in the other Cajun’s hands. But Marcus knew they wouldn’t be hurt, at least until he could dispatch the three shifters.

  Bbzzzzzzzzzzzzt! Marcus’ body was rattled with pain, a mind-numbing, blinding, deafening pain that filled every part of his being, locking him in a paralyzing grip. Bbbzzzzzzzzzzt! Marcus turned to see two of the Cajuns, still in human form, holding long, metal poles with little prongs on each end. Bbbzzzzzzzzt! Marcus spun to face one, and when he did, the other struck him again from behind. Bbbbbzzzzzzzzzzzzzzt!

  Then both at once: Bbbbzzzzzzzzzzzzzt!

  Marcus’ systems finally succumbed, a terrific vibration racing through his body, ears filled with a shrill tone, limbs unresponsive, heart pounding in his chest. He could hear Sabrina cry out his name, but her voice was soon muffled and another cold shot of electricity raced through him, throwing him into a dark pit of unconsciousness.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Marcus came around slowly, cold concrete beneath him. He was still in his ursine form, senses already keen to familiar smells.

  Sabrina was nearby, Marcus knew even before he knew where he was. And he knew he wasn’t alone. He could smell others around him: men, shifters.

  “S’wakin’ up, sheriff.”

  “I got eyes, dummy.”

  Marcus’ focus was soft when it came at all, his brain pounding, aching and dry. He tried to stand, but his limbs were still weak, the ghost of a vibration haunting his bones and tissues. Marcus’ breath was strained, a growl low and deep in his throat.

  “Le dieu des marais, the god of the swamps.” Marcus knew the voice, and he sharpened his focus to recognize Sheriff Le Croix standing a fair distance away, too far to make a strike in Marcus’ condition. He was in the company of about half a dozen other men, at least two holding rifles to Marcus’ strained focus.

  “He’s gettin’ up, sheriff!”

  “Take it easy, Beansie, take it easy.” The sheriff approached the bars just as those metal prongs came clearly into Marcus’ view.

  Bars? They put me in a… a cage? They thought a cage could hold me?

  Marcus felt a surge of strength and was already prepared to lurch at the man for a one-strike decapitation. His paw hit the bars, brain certain that they would fold and rumple beneath his weight and strength.

  Bbbzzzzzt!

  A familiar white-hot pain shot through Marcus’ arms, rattling his brain and sending his body reeling back, mouth open in an angry cry.

  Marcus looked over to one corner of the cage, his human brain recognizing the wiring running from inside the bars around to a transformer fixed to the wall.

  Still, Marcus thought, maybe if I hit it fast enough I can break through the bars before the pain gets too great. Marcus charged the bars again, but the shock of the electricity through both arms created a closed circuit that sent Marcus spinning and collapsing to the concrete floor. He fell so far back that he hit the bars on the other side of the cage, the rear bars shocking him again.

  Bbbbzzzzzzt!

  The guards around Sheriff Le Croix laughed, heads down low, shoulders up, voices clattering like a pack of hyaenas.

  “Nah, boys, we’re in the company of a legend,” the sheriff said, smiling vaguely as he stood near the cage on the other side of those electrified bars. “Show some respect.”

  “I’ll show him my ass,” one screeched, “so he can kiss it!” The others laughed.

  “I say we kill it right here’n nah,” Beansie said, “shoot it right in the face.”

  “Not yet, Beansie, not yet.” The sheriff lorded over the cage, hands behind his back. “I know you can understand me,” he said to Marcus. “I know who you really are. And you know there ain’t nowhere you can go, else you wanna get fried. So you might as well just sit back and have a listen, am I right?”

  Marcus growled in his frustration, lip curling up over his white fangs.

  “All right, then,” the sheriff went on, pacing slowly near the cage. “First off, I gotta say, that was good thinkin’ blockin’ off that hospital!” He spat out a mean cackle. “You really done hornswoggled us with that one.”

  Marcus waited for what he knew was coming next.

  “Secondly,” Sheriff Le Croix went on, “and more importantly fer you, I’m guessin’… I got ‘cher women.” Marcus growled, but the sheriff went on in a louder tone, “And I ain’t gonna lie ‘bout what we do with such women.” Then, in a lower, more conversational tone, exuding Southern hospitality, he added, “You know what we use this plantation for.”

  This plantation? At least that told Marcus where he was, and how he’d get himself and both women out of there. Should have burned this place to the ground the way I did the farmhouse, Marcus thought, turning his attention back to the sheriff.

  “And that pretty redhead,” Sheriff Le Croix went on, “Miss Sabrina Parks, I’d be keepin’ at her to make sure she bred me a good, hearty brood. The other too; she’s all right. But she’s already with pup, so she’ll be kept in good health at least until she gives birth, no matter what.”

  Marcus eyed the other guards, all of them shifters. The sheriff had more of them under his wing than Marcus could have realized.

  “But that brings us t’you,” the sheriff went on. “Naturally, it’d be in my best interests to kill you like Beansie here said. But I think it might be in my even better interests to keep you alive. In addition, and in exchange for your services to me, I’ll promise your woman will remain unhurt… and untouched. Now that sounds to me like a very square deal.”

  Marcus growled, the desire and instinct to bash through those bars and rip the man to shreds almost irresistible.

  Le Croix smiled. “By services, I mean… any variety of… unpleasant
tasks. This is a war comin’ up, Mr. Reilly, it’s a matter of duty.”

  Marcus snarled.

  “Of course there’s my backup offer,” Sheriff Le Croix went on. “I kill you now, rape the shit out of your woman ’til she gives me a son, then cut her fucking throat and feed her to the gators. The other one’s gonna birth that pup and then, if possible, be used again next season. At least she’ll make a nice morsel for the men here. See, I’m the alpha in this pack, I’m the one who reproduces… and I don’t like it nice.”

  Marcus exploded in a fit of rage, fury spilling out of his roaring throat, forcing his mighty arms to swing into those bars in a final bid to destroy them. But no matter how swift the strike, that invisible weapon shot back at him with opposite and even greater strength. For all Marcus’ power, several swipes at those bars created a flurry of sparks, white-hot agony shooting up his arms until Marcus had to back away. He was weak, exhausted, and seemingly out of options.

  Le Croix chuckled under his breath. “I’ll take that as a yes.” Marcus growled at the sheriff, low and bitter, eyes fixed on his would-be prey. “Oh, don’t take it so badly. First of all, you’re in aid of a good cause! It’s about time we shifters took over. The humans are weak, stupid, you know that! They’re ruining this planet, ruining this country, ruining each other. They’ve had their chance, we all know that. While we… we’ve been held down long enough, subjugated, suppressed, forced into the darkness, having to live in the swamps and the forests and the far corners of society. No, my friend, no, not anymore. Don’t you want to be part of that new future, part of the shifter uprising?”

  Marcus huffed, brain still addled by the electric shocks. “You’ll come to see things my way,” Sheriff Le Croix said. “My bet is you’ll be my key man… if you’ll pardon that expression. And, y’know, the position does include… conjugal visits.”

  Marcus growled, unable to conjure a tactical strategy, but certain that he would.