Alpha bear, p.1
Alpha Bear, page 1
ALPHA BEAR
BAD BOY SHIFTERS
BOOK THREE
HEATHER HILDENBRAND
Alpha Bear
Copyright 2016 by Heather Hildenbrand
Heather Hildenbrand, LLC
All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written consent of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are a product of the authors’ imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, either living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the authors.
Cover by RJ Creatives
www.heatherhildenbrandbooks.com
CONTENTS
Get a free book
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Epilogue
Brawling Bear
About the Author
Also by Heather Hildenbrand
GET A FREE BOOK
Get a free book when you subscribe!
Sworn to the light, can she resist darkness incarnate when he claims her very soul?
CHAPTER ONE
PATRICE
Patrice’s stomach tightened with nerves as she rounded the last bend on the narrow mountain road. She turned down the volume on the radio, silencing the girl-power band she’d been singing along to. Time to concentrate. According to the GPS map on her phone, she only had a quarter mile to go. Finally.
She’d known it would be a long drive out of town to reach this place, but wow. These guys liked their privacy; that was for sure. She hadn’t seen another house in miles and her nerves were starting to get to her. As if echoing the sentiment, her beater of a car whined and protested the steep hill. The asphalt had given way to dirt about a mile ago and the second-hand import with bald tires didn’t do well on this kind of terrain. Actually, it didn’t do well on any kind of terrain. Lucky for her, owning the bar in town and living above it meant she didn’t do much driving these days.
Today was an exception. And although she dreaded what she was about to do, she wasn’t going to just roll over and let the Timber Crew destroy the only thing that was truly hers in the world. When Patrice’s ex had bought the bar with her and then split a few months later, she’d worked her ass off to buy out his share.
As of six months ago, the bar was hers and hers alone. Free and clear. Screw her ex, Bobby, and the way he walked out, leaving her holding the bag five years ago. She’d stepped up then and she’d step up now. Because she wasn’t about to let the Timber Crew off the hook for what they’d done.
The Timber Crew was a shifter crew made up entirely of “problem” grizzlies that lived on the other side of Timber Falls Mountain. Word had it the men who lived here came from all kinds of messed up childhoods. Hunt, the alpha, brought them here to “rehabilitate” them. But Patrice hadn’t seen nearly as much rehab as demo when the guys came to her bar. Last night had definitely been the worst of it.
Patrice steered right, and when the road straightened, she braked hard and stared at the “welcome” post in front of her. Two telephone poles stood like sentinels on either side of a muddy driveway. Mounted across the top of the poles was a thick plank and underneath that, an old wooden sign hung precariously by only two of its four rusted chains. The sign swung lightly in the late afternoon breeze but it was visible enough in the fading light, and a shiver ran through her.
Once, it had said Timber Falls Lumber Co. but that had been struck through and spray-painted over. Now it simply said exactly what this place was known as to the townspeople in Timber Falls, Montana: the Bad News Bears. Beyond the sign, she could see that it was an old campground with tiny cabins spaced just far enough apart to appear together but separate. Tall pines were interspersed between them but not enough to afford any real privacy. These guys worked together and partied together. The second part she knew firsthand now that her bar was the only one that still offered service to shifters in town. Maybe not for much longer.
Patrice hesitated, her car idling with a low vibrating growl just before the turnoff. For a split second she was tempted to give in to her trepidation and turn back. Go home and do what she could do to repair the damage. Ban the bears from ever stepping foot inside her place again.
But then she remembered how hard she’d worked to make that bar downtown all hers. Not just the bank note but the interior décor. The Shifty Cat was a nice place now with all its gleaming hardwood and the brand new bar top—the bar top that had been cracked all the way down the middle last night by one of these creeps. She’d promised herself she’d put aside her fear of them and come demanding what was fair: they should fix what they broke. And dammit, she was going to do it. Even if it meant facing the alpha of the infamous Timber Falls Shifters himself.
She reached over and popped an M&M into her mouth. For courage. And eased onto the gas. With only a slight ripple of unease, she turned onto the muddy drive and made her way toward the first house. A cabin, although its logs had seen better days. Still, it was in better shape than the other houses. She counted six before she’d reached her destination and put it in park, hands trembling only a little.
She half-expected Hunt Blackburn himself to come marching out to greet her. Or run her off. Word had it he didn’t like visitors. He was the only member of the crew she’d never met but if the rest of them were any indication, she could only assume he would not be a pleasant guy.
The bears brought customers and a nice stream of income into her bar with the co-ed groupies that followed them around. She usually didn’t complain too much when they got rowdy. And she wasn’t going to be the hypocrite to ban a shifter from her premises either. Not when she was one herself. But lately, the girls had been fewer and the fights more often. Last night had been the worst. For the sake of the town, she had to say something.
She did a cursory mirror check and smudged on some lip gloss, hurrying in case any of them were watching her through closed blinds. She couldn’t sense anyone but she wasn’t taking any chances. One more M&M and a fluff of her hair later and she was ready.
The weathered porch creaked underneath her ankle boots and when she knocked, she grimaced at the way it seemed to echo loudly into the silence around her. It was eerie knowing how many grizzly shifters lived here and not sensing a single freaking one. The animal inside her was uneasy.
Her knock went unanswered. In fact, everything was quiet. Too quiet. But she wasn’t leaving without getting what she’d come for.
She frowned, noticing the pick-up truck parked beside her car and the other two trucks scattered out by the rickety trailers beyond. She checked the clock on her phone—which had zero service. It was late enough, she didn’t think they were still at work. So where was he?
From somewhere behind the house, a man hollered, followed by another yell and then loud laughter. A low hum of voices followed and Patrice kicked herself for not picking up on it before. Now, she followed the sound around the side of the house.
She pulled up short when she spotted them. Six men, half of them shirtless, laughed and carried on. All of them, even those who wore shirts, were toned and fit with broad shoulders that tapered into slim waists. They sported varying hair colors and heights, easily making them the most eclectic “family” she’d ever seen. Some were scowling and some were laughing.
She recognized almost all of them immediately from the bar, but wow, she’d never seen them shirtless before. It made her take notice for what felt like the first time. Hard abs, muscled arms and shoulders. From here, she could even see that some had scars. Holy Lord, they were all gorgeous. But all of them looked downright dangerous in the soft, fading daylight. If Patrice’s animal wasn’t a predator all its own, she would have tucked tail and run right then.
Instead, she forced one shaky boot in front of the other, and approached slowly.
She’d gone less than three steps when every single head whipped toward her, senses on edge. They all stared. She almost stumbled when the terrain changed from soft grass to loose dirt underneath her feet. She looked down and her eyes narrowed in confusion as she took in the circular space where the grass had completely died off—so much that it didn’t even look inclined to try and grow back at this point. She wondered what this space was used for if the plant life had given up on it. But she wasn’t about to ask. She kept walking.
The one closest to her took a step but the taller, dark-haired one manning the grill stopped him. Patrice narrowed her eyes at the cook. The only face she didn’t know. That would be Hunt, the alpha. Dark brown hair fell in unruly waves that turned to curls at the ends. He ran a hand through it, clearing it out of his eyes as he studied her. His shoulders were massively wide and tapered into a waist that advertised washboard abs through his thin shirt. He was the hottest man she’d ever seen—and that was saying something standing among this group.
Patrice had to remind herself to breathe. On shaky legs, she kept walking.
As she neared, she caught sight of faces she knew from their nights at her bar and began naming them off in her head to keep her cool. Anchor, the grizzly with the red beard and Irish accent, lounged on one end of a sagging picnic table heaped with burgers and fixin’s.
On the other end sat Warner, the party boy of the bunch from everything she’d read. A ladies man with a smile that would make a girl’s thighs ache. Or at least that’s how Nina had put it in the editorial article that went out this morning via the online Timber Falls newspaper. Nina reported on anything shifter-related. Including the brawl from last night. The post already had 200 comments. No, complaints. The town was just as sick of these guys as she was. Maybe more. All thanks to the new guy in town, Brinkley Judson. He’d stirred everyone up and while Patrice wasn’t a fan of the guy, he wasn’t the one who’d broken her bar.
Patrice recognized the three others. Ryker. Grayden. Beck. The trio of terror, some said.
“Hey, I know you,” Beck said, rising as she approached.
Patrice opened her mouth to retort that he should know her since he was one of the ones who’d wrecked her place last night, but the words went right out of her mind when Hunt finally turned and pinned her with a look.
He had jet black hair swept over one eye and a scar above his brow that disappeared into his hairline. Day-old stubble shadowed his jaw and sinewy muscles ran the length of his forearm, tensing as he gripped the spatula in his hand. Lord, he was beautiful. And the look he gave her said he could eat her up in a single bite if he chose to.
She licked her lip, suddenly very aware of her rounded edges and ample curves. Too many M&Ms and ice cream sundaes, for sure. But what could she do about it now? And besides, she reminded herself, getting ogled was not why she’d come. Although, getting an up-close view of the elusive Hunt Blackburn wasn’t a bad perk of her mission.
“What the hell do you want?” Grayden, the brawler, rose and stared at her through red-rimmed eyes. Hung over, she guessed without an ounce of sympathy.
“Doesn’t matter what she wants,” said Anchor. He glared at her. “Visitors aren’t welcome.”
Patrice fought the urge to hiss at him, struggling to hide her feline’s temper. If they knew what she was, she suspected this meeting might go differently. And she definitely hadn’t come here to go head to head with a den of bad bears. In fact, she’d purposely stopped upwind of them just in case her scent was enough to give her away.
She looked over at Hunt who stood with a grease-coated spatula in hand and a closed off expression. “Can I speak with you?” she said in her iciest voice.
Grayden whistled. “Cold broad,” he said.
“I’d warm her up,” said Warner, and Hunt growled at him.
“You don’t talk to a lady like that,” the one named Anchor roared. He shot to his feet and Warner did the same, both of them glaring at each other with fisted hands. The air coiled with instant tension and Patrice’s breath caught at the animosity between them. Apparently brawls were the norm for them.
“You want to stand up for all the women in the world, get in the damn circle,” Grayden muttered and Anchor’s eyes gleamed.
“With pleasure,” he said, head cocked at Warner, but Hunt laid a hand on Anchor’s shoulder.
“Be polite,” Hunt warned.
“But we don’t like visitors,” Grayden argued. The bite had gone out of his words, though, and he looked more confused than anything.
“We don’t allow visitors,” Hunt corrected, getting into Grayden’s face. “We also don’t insult them.” He handed off his spatula and stepped away from the grill. “And we don’t fight in front of them.”
Anchor blinked and then seemed to remember where he was—or that his alpha had spoken. He backed off and Warner reluctantly sat back down, muttering.
Grayden scowled at Hunt’s words, but didn’t press it. Patrice didn’t blame him. She could feel the alpha power rolling off him in waves even from here. Her animal whined at the change in air as Hunt approached her but a thrill ran up her spine at his closeness.
She ignored that. She wasn’t here to flirt. Besides, Hunt Blackburn couldn’t possibly be attracted to her. Just by looking at him she knew he could have any woman he wanted. And she could bet he didn’t want a too-curvy, mid-thirties spinster barkeep. Besides, she wasn’t in the market for anything resembling a relationship again. Not yet and probably not ever. She liked knowing she’d created a life where she stood sturdy on her own two feet. No man would ever take that from her again.
The others went back to their own conversations, swigging beer from cans and arguing over whether the burgers were fully cooked or not. Hunt gestured to the house behind her and she fell into step beside him, praying she didn’t wobble in her boots this time. She’d been a real idiot to wear brand new heels to a place like this, but a girl had to make an impression.
Hunt led her as far as his front porch. Out of sight of the rest of them. He didn’t invite her inside and Patrice hid her disappointment.
“Sorry for the way they reacted,” Hunt said, shocking her again with his sincerity. “These guys come from rough backgrounds. They don’t have the best manners.”
“That’s okay,” she mumbled.
“And it’s true, we don’t allow female visitors up here,” he added with a pointed look. Like the whole thing had been partly her fault. “What is it you think I can do for you, miss …?” Hunt asked and Patrice scrambled to get her thoughts together.
“Patrice. Patrice Monroe.”
“Hunt Blackburn. Nice to meet you,” he said without offering his hand and then nodded for her to go on.
She cleared her throat. “I own the bar in town, The Shifty Cat. I’m sure you’re aware that your crew likes to hang out there especially now that they’ve been banned from all the other bars.” He scowled but didn’t interrupt and she wondered at that. He never came in himself but he was alpha here. If he didn’t want the guys there, he could have told them not to come. “And as I’m also sure you know, the guys can be…rowdy.” Hunt snorted but she ignored that and went on. “Last night they got out of hand—well, more out of hand than usual—and damage was done to my place.”
Hunt crossed his arms, the tendons rippling as his forearm and bicep muscles contracted. “My guys?” he asked in a harsh tone. His shoulders were back and underneath his crossed arms she could see the ripples of pec muscles across his broad chest.
Patrice nodded.
“Dammit,” he muttered and the irritation rolled off him in waves. She’d never been this close to such a dominating alpha before and it was throwing her off. She was a predator in her own right but her animal didn’t do packs. Or at least, she didn’t, personally. And without a pack, you didn’t need an alpha to rule. But Hunt was every inch in control. Of himself, his pack. Even the air around them seemed to draw in tight, gravitating toward him and bending to his will. It was ridiculously hot, that kind of power.
She swallowed hard, determined to stand her ground. And not be caught checking him out. “I’m here to work something out regarding the repairs.”
“What’s broken?” he asked warily.
“Chairs. Tables. Artwork.” His brows rose at that and she dared him to question her choice to decorate a bar. “And my bar top. It’s cracked down the middle. I’m not sure it can be fixed. I’ll probably have to replace it entirely.”
“Shit, I’m going to kill those guys,” he muttered. She didn’t know how to reply to that. Hunt stared at her for a long moment and she resisted the urge to squirm under his heavy stare. This was the moment. If she looked away, it would be like losing somehow. Finally, he sighed and rubbed his face. “Did they start it?” he asked.
