Boarlander Silverback (Boarlander Bears Book 3) (2 page)

Kirk was stretching his aching arm over his head when Harrison whistled so loud it echoed through the mountains. Lunch break was over. Thirty minutes had come and gone like a blink of an eye, and Kirk tossed the half-eaten sandwich in his hand a dirty look. He’d completely zoned out. What the hell was wrong with him?

He snorted. Alison Holman was what was wrong with him, probably because she shot him. He shook his head at his bullshit justification for why she was on his mind. Try to blame it on his sore, shot-up shoulder all he wanted to, but the fact was, he was intrigued by the woman. She was thin as a whip, which he usually wasn’t attracted to, and all tatted up. Another negative before she’d come guns a-blazin’ into his life, and now he couldn’t stop thinking about the intricate designs on her arm. She’d been wearing a white tank top, and her ink had gone all the way from her elbow to her collar bone and disappeared down the back of her shirt. He bet she was all painted up. He’d pegged her for a tough girl the first night she’d come for Emerson. A sexy, hard-souled, tough girl. But no. That wasn’t right because she’d given Emerson information that had provided her with a loophole to marry Bash. But why?

He chucked his sandwich into the brown paper bag with the rest of his uneaten lunch and stood. Dusting his pants, he remembered how soft her skin had been under his knuckle. She’d flinched away from him looking at her tattoos, but there had been that moment where she’d been silk under his touch. She wasn’t hard at all. Weapon wielding, tatted-up badass with her chopped, bleach platinum blond hair, delicate, animated, dark eyebrows, and her hard little pixie face. She’d smelled sad. And regretful after she’d pulled the trigger.

Good.

At his callousness, a long, low rumble echoed up his throat from his animal. He would never hurt a woman, but damn, he’d been pissed she’d been nosing around Harrison’s kill. Nosy cop. Her partner was an easy read. Here because he wanted to put shifters in their place. Full of bravado and thinking his badge kept him safe. Alison was different, though. She was a mystery his gorilla was suddenly and overwhelmingly eager to solve.

Kirk picked up his chainsaw from where he’d set it on the ground and followed the Boarlanders down the hillside toward the trees they still had to cut. They’d been talking all through lunch, but he hadn’t paid attention to a damned word. Mostly because Clinton was ranting again, and Kirk usually checked out when he went off. His issue this week? He was convinced the government was going to snuff them out of existence. They might, but hell, Clinton didn’t have to breathe constant life into the thought.

Nonchalantly, Kirk asked, “What do you guys think about the cops?”

“Brackeen and Holman?” Mason asked, hopping over a thin log. “Trouble.”

“I second trouble,” Bash said quick, lifting his hand like he was voting for second grade class president.

Kirk grinned and ruffed up his hair. “What else do you think, Bash bear?”

“I like Holman’s hair, and she has good posture. Brackeen is a dickweed. He reminds me of Clinton.”

Clinton was in front of them, but he graced them with an over-the-shoulder middle finger.

“I think we need to be wary with them,” Harrison said low, sounding troubled. “The woman smelled terrified of us, but she was still steady with that Glock. A dangerous combo.”

“Why do you think they’re really here?” Mason asked.

Harrison shook his head and climbed over a pile of felled lumber. “Nothing good. To watch us and give intel, maybe.”

“Definitely they’ll make our lives hellish,” Clinton muttered. “People have to check in with them like we live in some damned gated community? It ain’t like people are flooding up here. If they come, it’s because they’re invited. We should kill them.”

“No!” Kirk barked out, too loud and way too fast.

Clinton turned around and stared at him as if he’d lost his damned mind, which he had. “Okay, boy scout. Get Damon to eat them then.”

Mason groaned. “Clinton, you’re so dumb it gives me a headache. You heard Cora. She said
keep
Damon from eating people, not feed people to him.”

“Who would know?”

“Whoever sent them here, dumbass!” Harrison griped, swatting at a fly with his yellow hardhat before he put it back on his head. “No more suggestions from you.”

“We could be friends with them,” Bash said.

“People like them can’t be friends with people like us,” Harrison said softly. “They’re here for bad reasons, Bash. A friendship with them wouldn’t benefit us. It would give them intel. It would give them power over us. We would care about them right up until the moment they pulled the trigger on us.”

Kirk swallowed hard and wiped his chin on his throbbing shoulder. Harrison was right. Alison hadn’t even hesitated. She’d come weapon drawn and been fine using it on him.

“But if we were friends, maybe they wouldn’t want to pull that trigger,” Bash murmured. “I like friends. Not enemies. Me and Emerson got a cub comin’. Don’t want no danger.”

Kirk smiled and gripped Bash’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, man. She and your cub are safe. She’s got all our protection.”

“Not mine,” Clinton said lightly. He ripped the cord of his chainsaw and went to work cutting a wedge from a tree.

Kirk shook his head. Bullshit. Clinton would throw himself in front of a moving train if it would save Audrey and Emerson from hurt. He just didn’t want to admit he cared about them or anyone else.

Kirk made it a safe distance away and pulled the cord of his own chainsaw. His arm hurt with the motion, and for the hundredth time, he remembered the look on Alison’s face when she’d realized she shot him. Sad, disappointed, and so damned beautiful.

He didn’t give a shit about her partner, Finn Brackeen, but Alison had drawn his animal straight up when she’d held her ground at his charge. She was brave, and under that tough-woman exterior, she harbored a surprising submissiveness that made no sense to him.

All of his first impressions of her had been wrong, and now he wanted to know more. Wanted to know everything. That was terrifying.

Being part of Kong’s family group had stifled his urge to choose a mate. Being under a more dominant silverback did that. But being around the Boarlanders was changing everything. Logging season was almost over, and he would go back to the Lowlanders. He balked against the idea, but it would be best. The woman he was unsettlingly interested in could be the most dangerous decision he could make for the Boarlanders.

And they deserved better.

“Damon Daye has put off a meeting with us for two weeks now,” Alison said into the phone.

Porter had been the one who’d gotten her off desk work and into this job. Sure, it was a crappy gig, but it was better than pushing papers all day. At least she was out on the streets again…er…the forest.

“Well, push the issue because you have to build up some kind of rapport with these
people
.” The way he had said “people” grated on her nerves, like they were animals instead. Understandable since she’d come here thinking the same thing, but after two encounters with some of the shifters of Damon’s mountains, now she wasn’t so sure.

“Porter, I don’t really know what I’m supposed to be doing here,” she admitted. “Brackeen and I have been told so little, and he seems fine with that, but I want clearer boundaries on this job.”

“So, you’re bored.”

She laughed and leaned on the kitchen counter of her cabin, crossed one arm under her elbow as she held the cell phone closer. “Well, it’s a different pace here than in Chicago, that’s for sure.”

“Enjoy the sunshine and fresh air, Holman.”

“Is this to help with the problems I had before? Is this like a rest and relaxation job? Because I have to tell you, the rest of the world seems to have its prejudices with the shifters, but Saratoga seems pretty docile. Pro-shifter, in fact. The shifters don’t have a single late permit, certificate, damned speeding ticket. They’re clean, Porter, and from what I can tell, they are just up here trying to live their lives. So that’s it, right? Send me on this bullshit job to give me some time to get over what happened?” She would rather log roll in poison ivy than talk about what had taken her from active duty, but she had so many questions about what the higher-ups wanted her doing out here, and Porter had been a slippery little bugger with his answers lately.

“Up there trying to live their lives—except for Damon killing an entire secret branch of the damned government. The Breck Crew outed that shit, Holman. Outed a top secret group to the public, and it looks bad for everyone who even smells of IESA. But that doesn’t negate the fact that Damon played hungry dragon with actual living people.”

“Yeah, I know. I get it. Justice and all.” But was it justice if they were just defending themselves? Because she’d defended herself, and everyone on the force had said that was okay and she shouldn’t feel guilt. But there seemed to be a double standard with shifters because of the animal’s that resided within them.

“Eye on the prize, Holman. Don’t go all sympathizer on me. You’re there to keep peace, for them and for humans.”

“Okay, I know. I’m the point of contact between the outside world and them.”

“Exactly. You’ll do great, and eventually you’ll come back, and we’ll get you back on the streets.”

Back on the streets—that statement held a terrifying combination of words. Back undercover, he meant. Back in the darkness. Back where no one could save her fast enough when things went bad. Back to being alone with real monsters. She closed her eyes against the memories that scratched at her mind, begging for a replay. Not here, not now. Not ever if she could help it.

The throaty rumble of a car sounded outside. Probably a groupie wanting to get up into the mountains for a picture with a shifter. The shifters had a massive fan base here. “I have to go. I have to check someone in.” And sadly, it would be the most exciting thing that happened all day.

“Head down, focus on that endgame,” Porter said. “Babysit those shifters and then get back to normal life.”

She hung up and huffed a humorless laugh. Normal life meant the mean streets of Chicago, a shitty, rat-infested apartment too close to the trains, her life at risk every day, and the constant internal reminder to not let herself get too close to anyone. People who got too close to her had short expiration dates.

On that dark thought, she pushed off the counter and sauntered through the small living area to the front door. Her cabin had the office sign on it, so she got to turn away the groupies. Lucky her. She didn’t even know what the hell Brackeen did all day.

She hooked her badge to the waist of her jeans, pulled open the door, and put on her neutral business face, which fell straight off when she saw who had pulled into the circle drive in front of her cabin.

A shiny green Mustang with black racing stripes, and leaned up against it like he’d been there all day was none other than Kirk Slater. Hole-riddled jeans graced his long legs, one foot crossed over the other, and a V-neck white T-shirt clung to his torso like a second skin. Dark two-day stubble dusted his chiseled jaw, and his dark eyes narrowed at her. Huh, his eyes weren’t the glowing gold of his silverback, but a soft brown instead. “Damon is ready to see you.”

“Oh,” she said, surprised. “Uuuh, I have to wait for my partner to come back.”

“He isn’t interested in meeting your asshole partner. Just you.”

“So, let me get this straight. You want me to drive deep into the heart of the dragon’s mountains without my partner. Without backup.”

Kirk laughed and shook his head. “We ain’t at war with you, Alison.”

“Ally.” She cleared her throat as her cheeks heated. Why the hell had she said that? “My friends call me Ally.”

“Lie.”

Oh yeah, she forgot about that whole built-in lie-detection instinct shifters had. “I wished my friends called me Ally.”

Kirk canted his head and frowned. “Half-truth.”

Alison closed her eyes as her mortification burned over her cheeks and up to her ears. “I don’t have many friends, but if I did, I would like them to call me Ally.”

Kirk waited a few moments too long in his response to be polite, and when he did talk, all he said was, “Get in.” Then he pulled his door open and slid in behind the wheel.

Get in? She cast a glance back at her cabin. Her holster was hung by the door.

Kirk rolled down the window. “Ally, if you want a ride to the dragon’s lair, get in now. No weapons, or you’ll piss me and everyone else off there. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“And I’m supposed to just trust you?”

“Have I given you any reason not to?” he asked, dark brows jacked up.

“I don’t trust anyone. Force of habit.”

“That’s a sad story. Now get your ass in my car before I drag you in here. I don’t want you traipsing all over the mountainside alone looking for Damon. The Gray Backs won’t be as nice as my crew.” His brows lowered. “I mean the Boarlanders, not my crew.”

This was a terrible idea, but Brackeen was down in Saratoga, again, and she’d been vying for this meeting with Damon since the day she’d arrived. And though she wouldn’t admit it out loud, a deep buried instinct told her Kirk was safe. Which was ridiculous because he’d probably told his crew about her shooting him, and he was most likely taking her into the woods to exact revenge. Despite her logic though, she wasn’t getting that hair-raising feeling she got when something was going south.

“You should know,” she said as she slid into the passenger seat, “I am trained in self-defense.”

“Yeah, I could tell by the way you went limp the other day when I charged.”

“I shot you first, smartass.”

Kirk let off a single, “Ha!” But then looked surprised that he’d laughed. He turned the engine, and it roared to life.

The seats smelled like rich leather, and he had an air freshener that read
new car smell
along the bottom. It hung from the rearview mirror, swaying back and forth as he pulled out of her circle drive. The Mustang was a manual transmission, so he shifted expertly and gassed it onto the main road. The unexpected speed tickled her stomach.

Kirk looked at her quick, his eyes on her smiling lips, before he dragged his attention back to the road. “Chicks dig the car,” he said.

“Oh, my God, you’re one of those guys,” she said, leaning back against the headrest.

“What kind of guys?”

“You know.” She narrowed her eyes and repeated, “You
know
.”

“Okay, cop, spill it. Tell me what kind of guy I am, based on your two seconds of talking to me.”

She sighed and stretched her legs out. “You’re cocky. Sexy and you know it. Drive the car for attention and because the shifter groupies in town drop their panties when you drive by with that rumbling motor. You’re a vroom vroom get-em-wet guy. You’ve probably banged thirty women in the back seat and at least five against the hood because that’s part of the bad boy lure. I bet I can guess what will come on the stereo if I turn it on. It’ll be something older and rocky with a hard-hitting beat. And you’re a one-chance kind of man.”

“What the hell does that even mean?”

“If I put my bare feet on your glove box, breathed on your window, smudged your leather, or brought a drink in here, you would never let me ride in your car again.”

“Sexy and I know it,” he said, shooting her a quick grin.

“That’s what you took away from all that?”

“Well, it’s the only part that’s true. I thought a cop would be better at this, but clearly—”

“Tell me which parts are wrong,” she challenged him.

Kirk clamped his teeth closed and shook his head. “Nah, I’m not playing this anymore. You nailed me. One hundred percent correct. Good job.”

He shifted gears and hit the gas, then shifted up again. Her stomach dipped with the speed, and she let off a surprised laugh. Kirk grinned and hit another gear, and now they were flying.

“You gonna give me a speeding ticket?”

“Yes!” she said giggling as she held her stomach. It was like being on a roller coaster. “Slow down right now.”

The engine wailed as he let off the gas and downshifted. “Yes, ma’am.”

He hit the blinker and turned onto a dirt road, but they’d already passed the turnoff for the Grayland Mobile Park.

“Where are you taking me? Damon is a Gray Back.”

“False. Damon is whatever he wants to be. He has pledged to no one, and neither has his mate or son.”

“Why not?”

Kirk shot her a nice-try look. “If you have questions about the dragon, you can ask him yourself and see how much he tells you. I like my hide where it is, thank you very much.”

“You mean you don’t want to be burned and eaten.”

“Damon wouldn’t do that,” Kirk said quietly.

“Why not?”

“Because he’d never hurt the people he loves. You think he’s a monster, but he’s lived for millennia and has seen the real beasts. And they aren’t you or me. It’s good to be wary of the dragon. He deserves respect. But he’s also a good man, and one worth getting to know.”

“Why are you helping me?”

Kirk twitched his head and made a single click behind his teeth. He pulled onto another road and sped along the gravel, kicking up clouds of dust. “I don’t know why I’m helping.”

“Lie,” she bluffed.

Kirk shifted gears again and inhaled deeply, his chest rising with the motion. “Because I can’t stop thinking about…”

Her heart pounded against her sternum. “Can’t stop thinking about what?”

“How you looked that first night, when you were giving us the news that laws for shifters were changing. We’re having our rights stripped away, and Brackeen didn’t give a single fuck how that affected us, but you looked at Bash and Emerson, and you were gutted with us. Do you know other shifters?”

“No. You’re the first ones I’ve met.”

“And yet you know how to expose your neck when we’re riled up. You know not to give us your back and run. Bringing the gun was dumb as shit, but everything else, you got. I’m helping because maybe if you see how life really is up here, you won’t be scared of us. You won’t go back to your boss and tell them what animals we are. Maybe you’ll see more, and maybe you’ll be better for it. You want to work up in these mountains and have access to us? You won’t get that pointing your Glock at everyone. We’re people, Ally. We have families up here, mates, people we love. How would you like if someone came into your home and pointed a gun at the people you love?”

Ally blinked hard and stared out the window so he couldn’t see the loss in her eyes when she said, “I do know how that feels.”

Kirk was quiet for a while, and they drove deeper into the mountains in silence. At last he said, “I’m sorry for whatever you’ve gone through, but can you see why we get defensive? We’ve been through more than you can imagine, just fighting for normal.”

Alison sighed and reached forward, turned the volume up on the radio. A rap song came on. Not many people surprised her, and Kirk was proving to be a breath of fresh air.

“The car wasn’t to get pussy,” he said. “My dad gave it to me. He gave one to all his kids to fix up.”

“How many kids did he have?”

Kirk’s lips turned up in a vacant smile. “You’ll judge.”

“I won’t. Tell me.”

“Fifteen.”

“Fifteen kids?” she said way too loud.

“Told you.”

“No, no, I’m not judging,” she rasped out, trying to regain her composure. “Your mother must’ve loved being pregnant.”