For Shift's Sake: Paranormal shapeshifter alpha werebear soldier BBW romance
Table of Contents
For Shift’s Sake
Copyright
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
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About the Author
For Shift’s Sake
MINA CARTER
New York Times & USA Today Bestselling Author
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Copyright
Copyright 2015 Mina Carter
Cover Art by Mina Carter
Edited by Tina Winograd
Published by Blue Hedgehog Press: December 2015
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
EBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared, or given away. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is a crime punishable by law. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded to or downloaded from file sharing sites, or distributed in any other way via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000 (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/).
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are fictitious or have been used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real in any way. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Author's note: All characters depicted in this work of fiction are 18 years of age or older.
Chapter One
A British werebear in Banford.
Reese Connor’s lips quirked up in sardonic amusement. It sounded like a crap B-movie, but it was nothing less than the truth. He was British. He was a werebear, or more technically correct, an ursanthrope. But he was, indeed, in a bloody backwater town called Banford, Tennessee.
He was only here under protest. Extreme protest since he’d been heading across country to Vegas. Well, that had been the plan until an old buddy called with a problem. He’d only agreed because it sounded like Danny was about to cry. Which was bullshit really; Reese couldn’t imagine Daniel Bradbury crying. Ever.
Like Reese, he was a bear shifter. Like Reese, he’d bounced around several elite units until they’d found themselves on a multi-national team so covert, it didn’t even have a name. Just a number. S-17.
No, Danny wouldn’t have cried, but he might have broken into song, which was almost as bad. To say the guy sang as well as a duck with a cold was an insult to ducks.
“I didn’t know you had a sister” was his first comment when Danny finished speaking.
And he hadn’t. Despite the fact they’d shared blood, sweat, and more firefights than either cared to count, at no point had Danny ever mentioned his family. Of course, Reese knew he probably had one. Werebears didn’t just spring out of nowhere, fully formed. Until now though, the subject of Danny’s family had been an abstract concept.
“You didn’t tell me your mom was as hot as fuck, so that makes us even.”
Reese had sighed, shaking his head as traffic hurtled by him where he’d pulled his bike to the side of the road. The mom joke, he’d expected that one. He should never have shown Danny that picture of his family.
“Fuck me, Bradbury. Do you have any barriers?”
“Yeah, yeah. That’s what she said.”
Reese had been forced to laugh. “Dickhead.”
“Bitch. Anyway, listen.” Danny had fallen serious. “I’m stuck out of the country at the moment or I’d go myself. Since you’ve got fuck all to do in your cushy retirement there, I figured you could swing by on your way to Vegas. It’s a small town called Banford…”
Las Vegas. That had been the plan. Down the country, then across. After so many years fighting for Queen and country in the arse end of beyond, he didn’t care how long it took. It was nice to feel the wind in his hair rather than passing bullets and a chance he’d never thought he’d get. Men like him didn’t often get happily ever after, or retirement. Usually they went down in a blaze of glory in some shithole no one cared about. Very few mourned their passing.
“Yeah, got it. What’s your sister’s name?”
“Thanks, bud. It’s Bobbi. Bobbi Bradbury.”
He’d sensed Danny’s relief despite the miles that separated them. He had no idea where Danny was and the guy wouldn’t tell him if he asked. That was the nature of what they did. What he used to do. “And Reese?”
“Yeah?”
He hadn’t really been listening as he spread a roadmap over the gas tank in front of him. Sure, he had GPS but he’d been in too many places without the ability to charge electronic equipment to be comfortable traveling without a map and compass.
You could take the bear out of the army and all that…
“She doesn’t know about us. And I’m not talking about the secret squirrel shit.”
Five little words and he’d frozen, gaze fixed on the map unseeingly.
“Never thought I’d hear myself saying this, but I sure as fuck hope you’re talking about all those hot showers and long walks on the beach.”
“Dude, I told you never to tell anyone about those,” Danny threw back with a chuckle. “Seriously, though, she’s human. No bear in there at all.”
“Huh.” Reese had sat back, bike balanced between his thighs. For once he was at a loss for words.
“Mom wanted a little girl, and well, you know how it is…”
Yeah, he did. Ursanthrope couples struggled to have kids at the best of times and nine times out of ten, the cubs were male. It was the reason their numbers were rapidly dwindling and bears like him were unlikely to find that most elusive of treasures: a true mate. Most he knew had given in and shacked up with human women, while the few bear females out there were hotly fought over.
“So they adopted Bobbi, but they never told her. After they passed, I just didn’t have the heart. I didn’t want to change her memories of them, you know?”
“Yeah, I hear you. No problem, bud, won’t take me long to get there.”
And it hadn’t. Turning the bike around, just a few hours later Reese had become a British werebear in Banford…
Actually, he mused as he sat in the one local diner and swirled the coffee in his mug, it sounded like a bad porno. Perhaps he should hit up a bar and see if he could pick up a sexy local for some fun.
His bear growled at the thought but he ignored it. The contrary beast had been getting grumpier over the last year, always searching for that unique scent that would mark their mate. Reese knew it was never going to happen, and he’d resigned himself to that fact, but it seemed his bear still lived in hope. Perhaps in Vegas… All he had to do here was check up on Danny’s sister and he’d be on his way. Shouldn’t take more than a day or so.
Reese looked up to study the black-haired waitress behind the counter. Young, she had an edgy style he wasn’t quite feeling, like it was a mask she used to fend off the world. Not what he expected. But she was here, and “see in the diner” was the only answer he’d been given when he enquired after Bobbi Bradbury.
/> So far, he was totally failing to see any family resemblance between emo-chick glaring at her phone behind the counter and his friend. Yeah, sure, they weren’t biologically related but they’d been brought up in the same house by the same people. There should be some similarities. He sighed to himself as he swallowed the last mouthful of coffee in the bottom of the mug.
Great, he got to babysit a brat. Danny so owed him one…screw it, make that several…for this.
Putting his mug down, Reese began to slide out of the booth. All the furnishings in the diner seemed to be rejects from the fifties and not built to accommodate his six-foot-four frame. Bears were built big and he was no exception. Big and with his former occupation having kept him in prime physical condition, he looked like a total gym bunny.
Amusement rolled through him at the thought. A gym bunny with a penchant for heavy weaponry and explosives.
The bell on the door jangled but it wasn’t the sound that froze him in his tracks. Instead, it was the rabbit in the headlights look on emo-chick’s face. It was a look of fear. One that spoke of the desire to run far and fast, but edged with the steely determination not to. His estimation of emo-chick shot up. He’d have expected her to cut and run at the first sign of trouble.
Two men strode into the diner like they owned it. They were suited and booted but he’d eat his hat if they were office workers. Not looking like they’d been crammed into those suits with Vaseline and a shoehorn. No, they had the heavy builds and predatory manner of the professional bruiser. He should know, it was a role he’d often played.
Easing his ass back into the seat, he pretended like he had a full mug of coffee and zero interest in the world around him. It was a rare skill for a man as big as he was to go unnoticed but he’d always had a talent for it. The science bods on the team said it was something to do with his bear’s hunting technique combined with his military training. He didn’t know, didn’t care. It came in useful on occasion. Like now.
“Andy. Chris.” Emo-chick greeted the two men coolly as they cosied up to the counter. “What can I get you boys today?”
“That’s mighty nice of you.” Goon one smiled, flipping his jacket back to rest a hand on his hip as he leaned against the counter. From this angle, Reese couldn’t see a holster but the tang of gun oil reached his sensitive nose. That one, at least, was packing. Probably in a shoulder holster, or more likely, stuffed down the back of his pants. The ability to know which opponents were armed was another reason his old unit used shifters.
“Ain’t that nice of her, Andy?” Goon one prompted his friend, who only grunted. The talker was Chris then. Not that Reese cared, but he filed the information in case it proved useful later.
“We’ll take a coffee each, and some of them pancakes you’re so good at making,” Chris carried on, leaning back and leering over the counter to check out emo-chick’s ass as she turned. “That’s what I like to see. A woman who knows her place…the kitchen.”
Reese fought the growl that wanted to break free. Neither he nor his bear liked the disrespect this guy was showing the girl. His training kicked in and he assessed the situation as he would any other mission.
Two shooters, both smelled human, a couple of civvies, plus emo-chick. Lines of fire weren’t good. If the shit hit the fan, the two trucker types by the door were toast. As if on cue, they finished up. Mugs and cutlery clattered on the table as they stood, throwing some dollar bills on the table before beating feet for the door.
His eyes narrowed as he took another swallow from his empty mug and reached for the folded up newspaper on the corner of the table. Interesting. Locals clearing out said they knew trouble was coming.
“So, beautiful, we need to talk about the insurance.”
And there it was. Fingers steepled over the top of his mug, Reese rolled it around its base. Insurance. A lovely little word that covered a multitude of sins. Here and now, with these two, it was obvious someone in Banford was running a protection racket.
Not these two though. He ran an assessing glance over them. Thick set and heavy, their expressions hinted at minds just as closed. Unless he was way off mark, neither possessed the mental agility to find their arses with both hands, never mind anything more complicated. No, these were hired muscle. After all, why bark when you have a dog?
“There must be some mistake.” Emo-chick didn’t back down despite the implicit threat hanging in the air. Instead, she slammed the coffee mugs down in front of the two men. The anger filled move said she’d rather tip the contents over them.
“The boss paid it last week.”
Boss. The word reverberated through Reese. When he’d asked in town about Bobbi Bradbury, the old guy sitting on the single park bench in what he assumed was the town square had nodded toward the diner with the words “runs that.” So boss meant emo-chick wasn’t Danny’s sister.
For some inexplicable reason, relief rolled through him. Not Danny’s sister. Why that should matter he didn’t know, but it did.
“Maybe.” Chris made a show of blowing the steam from the top of his coffee mug. “But Mr. Riley says this place is a gold mine and you need to pay the extra premium.”
He grinned, but the expression wasn’t pleasant. As he looked up, he caught sight of Reese watching him through the mirror behind the counter. “What the fuck you looking at, buddy?”
He opened his mouth to reply, but didn’t get the chance as the door behind the counter opened and all hell broke loose.
*
On a normal day, Bobbi Bradbury was a laid-back, easy-going sort of girl. The sort that laughed and joked easily with the customers, but had no problem putting anyone back in their place without offending them, which she’d learned after a high turnover of waitstaff. An unusual talent indeed.
But today was not a normal day. Today had started off shitty and rapidly headed into the realms of ‘you really should have stayed in bed this month’ territory. She’d been woken by the same silent caller who’d been bugging her for weeks, when she’d gotten outside, she’d discovered her car tires had been slashed. That meant she’d had to borrow old man Johnson’s truck to head to the wholesalers to find when she’d got there that the credit limit on her account had been cut.
She knew the problem, of course.
It was, as usual, down to a man.
Conrad Jackson ran Banford. Or rather, his BFF Cade Riley did. The businessman and the crime lord, between them, they had the town sewn up nice and tight. Whatever Conrad didn’t own, Cade terrorized.
For the last couple of months, she’d been dancing a fancy two-step to stay out of Conrad’s clutches. And his bed. For some reason she couldn’t fathom, he’d decided she was Miss Right. She’d turned down date after date, sent back more bunches of flowers than she could count…until a week or so ago. It had gone all quiet on the Conrad front.
Now she knew why. The charm campaign was over; the terrible twosome were just on the offensive. Great, just fucking great.
So, she wasn’t in the best of moods when she emerged from the basement just in time to hear one of Cole’s buddy boys abusing one of her customers. She burst through the door like a freight train on PCP and rounded on them.
“How dare you!” Her voice was louder than intended and with a growl in it that startled even her. Both of Cole’s bully boys blinked in surprise. Even Andy, and nothing bothered that nasty SOB. Vibrating with anger, she glared at them both. “Fuck off and tell your loser boss that if he has a problem with me, then grow a fucking pair of balls and come and face me himself. Got that?”
Chris, the talker, recovered first and smiled. “You know the answer to all your problems, Ms. Bradbury…just let Mr. Jackson have what he wants.”
His accompanying leer as he slid a glance down her body told her loud and clear exactly what Conrad wanted, even if she hadn’t already figured that out for herself.
“Not even if he was the last man on the planet,” she snarled. “And you can take that to the bank. Now get out.”
Chris opened his mouth to argue but the guy sitting in the booth behind him chose that moment to stand up. And up. And up some more. Bobbi’s eyes widened as he loomed over the other man. He wasn't a man, he was a frigging mountain.
“The lady asked you to leave.”
His voice was low and rough, like he smoked sixty a day and gargled whiskey, mixed with a shot of pure testosterone. She bit back a whimper and pressed her thighs together as her body responded. Shit, no man should be able to make a woman wet just by talking.
He was broad-shouldered and handsome as hell. Blond hair was cropped close to the scalp, which made him look meaner, and pale eyes sparkled with menace as he looked down at Cole’s boys.
“I suggest you back the fuck up and walk away, friend.” Chris turned, his manner cocky and aggressive. He flicked a glance over the stranger’s build. “Playing football in high school ain’t gonna help you here.”
The big man didn’t move, just locked eyes with Chris. Then he smiled. Everything in Bobbi screamed for her to get away. This man wasn’t nice, he was dangerous, and every instinct she had urged her to run and hide.
“Rugby,” he rumbled.
How could a man’s voice be that low? And he had some kind of accent, but she couldn’t figure out what it was at the moment.
“Say what?”
“I’m not your friend,” the big man elaborated. “And I played Rugby, not football.”
With more words, a light went on in her head and she pinpointed his accent. He was English. Her eyes widened even more. Up to now, her only exposure to English people was hot actors in films. This guy was hot, but he was a world away from the suave and sophisticated guys on the silver screen. He was raw, rough, and ready. And totally hot.
“Rugby?” Chris sounded confused and Bobbi felt like face palming. Banford was isolated but it wasn’t the back end of freaking beyond.
Big guy didn’t bat an eyelid. “Yeah, the way we played, it’s a cross between bedlam and murder. Now fuck off, or I’ll give you a firsthand demonstration.”