Gunnar's Grizzly Claim

Chapter 1

Gunnar

There’s something new in the air tonight.

I stand on the deck of our broken-down lodge, looking out over my mountain territory.

Thirty thousand acres of rocky outcrops, deep ravines and dense forest. Ridge after inhospitable ridge disappearing into the distance.

All mine, and nothing moves out here without me knowing.

Below, pines crowd the slope, their silhouettes like black daggers against the gathering dusk. I draw in a slow breath, sorting through the familiar scents—pine sap, decaying leaves, the musky tang of deer that passed through hours ago.

And underneath it—

Something sweeter.

My beast stirs beneath my skin.

I inhale again, deeper this time.

Human.

Female?

The scent is faint, shredded apart by wind and distance, but it hooks into me instantly. My pulse slows. Every muscle in my body goes taut.

My beast’s hackles rise, its ears straining forward then back. But all I can hear is the sound of my brother Orson chopping wood.

He puts his whole back into it, muscles bunching under his sweat-darkened shirt, every smack of blade on wood driving a shockwave through the mountain that I feel in my molars.

If the point is to warn off every living thing within two valleys, mission accomplished.

We were born beasts, all three of us, but Orson? A whole other level of feral.

Torin lacks my patience. He stands nearby, arms crossed over his chest, jaw tight. “Quit hacking at it like that,” he snaps.

Orson hurls a log straight at his boots. It lands with a thud that sprays dirt up his jeans.

“You wanna show me how?” he says, rolling his massive shoulders. He bares his gums, almost a smile. The tension between them crackles low and familiar.

The wind picks up, blowing hard enough to sting. And carried on it—a sound that definitely shouldn’t be here.

I give a warning growl and my brothers fall silent right away. The three of us turn as one, eyes fixed on the access road winding up from the valley below.

The faintest hum of engines. Just over two miles out by the sound of it, where the road curves around the granite outcropping.

Three distinct notes, growing steadily louder.

They don’t slow at the washed-out bend. Don’t hesitate where the path narrows between two ancient pines. They drive like they already know what’s up here.

And no one comes up this road unless they know exactly where it leads.

We chose this place because it’s forgotten. Humans avoid it, sensing something primal in the woods that warns them away. Even other shifters respect the boundaries we’ve marked with claw and scent.

Behind me, the lodge is dark except for the firelight leaking through the cracked front windows. There are no power lines or cell service. No reason for anyone to come looking.

Torin sets down his mug, coffee forgotten. Orson’s axe hangs loose in his grip, but I can see his claws beginning to extend, black and curved and deadly.

They look at me, readying themselves, bodies primed for the shift.

We don’t speak.

We don’t need to.

Someone is coming onto our land without permission.

And that’s a mistake they’ll only make once.

The engines grow louder until I can hear the gravel shifting under their tires. Headlights break through the trees first, sweeping across the lodge and the stacked wood at Orson’s feet.

Three black SUVs roll into the clearing and cut their engines.

Doors open.

Six men step into the clearing with weapons drawn.

I roll my shoulders and release.

The change tears through me, skin burning, bones crunching and spreading. My beast bursts out of me as my weight slams down into the earth. The world drops lower and wider, scent flooding in—oil, sweat, gunmetal, fear.

My brothers crash down onto all fours beside me.

In unison, we part our massive jaws, baring fangs as we unleash a roar. The sound shatters the clearing.

For a moment they freeze, transfixed with horror and disbelief.

One man fires too early. The shot tears through my shoulder fur and sparks off stone behind me.

I’m on him before he can chamber another round.

My weight drives him flat. The rifle cracks under my paw, splintering at the stock. I bite down on his forearm and feel bone give. He’s still screaming as I toss him aside.

To my left, Torin takes a bullet high in the flank and keeps moving. He barrels into two men at once, sending them into the side of the nearest SUV hard enough to spiderweb the windshield. One drops his weapon and runs.

He doesn’t get far.

Claws rake down his back. He hits the dirt face-first.

Another tries to retreat toward the tree line, fumbling for his sidearm. I close the distance in three strides and slam into him from behind. His head snaps forward against the hood of the vehicle with a wet crack. Blood spreads across the black paint in a thick line.

The clearing smells hot and metallic now.

The men who came prepared for battle are either on their knees or bleeding into the gravel.

Silence falls again, broken only by ragged breathing.

The doors of two SUVs hang open. The third remains closed, its engine idling.

I shift back. My beast goes back inside with an effort, grumbling and resisting me all the way. Blood is streaked across my chest and hands.

I stride toward the driver’s side window and pound it with my fist.

The glass fractures but holds.

“Get out,” I bellow.

The driver’s door opens.

The scent I picked up before intensifies.

But a man with cropped gray hair steps out.

He shuts the door with care, like this is a meeting. His gaze flicks to the bodies. Something tightens, then he reins it in.

His attention locks onto me.

“Good,” he says quietly.

I go still. My beast pushes forward, nostrils flaring. Human—but he holds himself like one of us. He fears me—and after what he’s just seen, he’s got every reason to—but he stands his ground.

“What are you?” I demand.

He takes his time, looking me over—the blood on my chest, the weapons at my feet, the bodies scattered across the clearing.

“A man who knows what you are,” he replies.

He folds his hands behind his back, holding himself still.

“I’ve got shifters in my bloodline.”

My brothers move in behind me. I don’t look at them, but I feel them there.

Some kind of skinny-ass scavenger, Orson says, the thought cutting in sharp.

Torin snorts. One with massive balls.

I shake my head at them.

“You walked onto my land armed,” I tell the man. “You aimed rifles at my brothers.” I take a step closer. “So you’re going to explain yourself. Now.”

Something shifts in his expression. Something like approval.

“We needed to know,” he says.

“Know what?”

“If the stories were true.”

“What stories?”

He glances at his men sprawled in the dirt, then back at me.

“It seems,” he says quietly, “the stories were understated.”

I step into him. Close enough that he has to tip his chin to hold my gaze.

“What do you want?”

“A temporary arrangement.”

“I’m not interested.”

“Hear me out,” he says, holding my gaze.

He gestures toward the SUV. “There’s someone in there who can’t stay in the city. Someone who needs a place no one can reach.”

My jaw tightens. “I’m not running a goddamn safe house.”

“You’re not,” he agrees. “We’ll compensate you.”

“I don’t need your money.”

He raises an eyebrow deliberately, peering at the lodge behind me.

My beast surges.

He flinches. Covers it.

“It’s about more than money.” There’s a quaver in his voice now.

“What is it about?”

“She’s a witness. High value.” He holds my gaze. “You’re the only things more dangerous than the men hunting her.”

There’s a pause.

Then he turns toward the SUV and waves his hand.

The rear door opens.

A man climbs out first, then he turns back and reaches inside.

“Come on,” he says under his breath.

“No—” A strained female voice. “Get the hell off me!”

There’s a thud, and he grunts.

A hand appears first, small, gripping the doorframe hard enough to whiten the knuckles. Then a leg, braced against the seat, fighting him. Dark hair spills forward, long and tangled.

She kicks and flails as he drags her out into the light.

Pale face. Eyes wide. Mouth open, pulling in air that won’t come fast enough.

She fights him with everything she has, but he’s too big.

Fear rolls off her in an electric wave. I hear the hammer of her pulse. I taste the adrenaline in the air.

Then her scent hits me with full force.

Everything stops.

I stop breathing.

No.

Not possible.

There’s no one out there for me. I made peace with that a long time ago. Buried it.

But now she stands in my clearing.

Scared. Fierce. Captive.

Mine.

The word doesn’t form in my head.

It rises from somewhere older than language.

“Let her go!” I roar.

My voice resounds off the mountain, and he releases her like she’s burned him.

She pulls away, shaking, trying to catch her breath.

I take a step closer, my attention fixed on her.

There’s no question now.

“She stays.”

“Are you crazy, Gunnar? This is the last thing we need—” Orson cuts in.

I unleash a snarl, and everyone recoils.

The girl makes a small sound, but she doesn’t back away.

Then she whirls around. “What the hell is this?” she snaps at the gray-haired man. “You said you were bringing me to a safehouse.”

I don’t look at him.

I don’t take my eyes off her.

“You’re safe,” I tell her.

She lets out a short, disbelieving laugh. “Safe?” Her gaze moves over the clearing—blood in the gravel, rifles broken, men down in the dirt. She stops on me. “You almost killed them.”

“They came armed,” I say, my voice rough from the shift. “They aimed at my brothers. But they’re still breathing.”

Her eyes flick to the bodies. One of them groans. She shudders.

“My agents will remain on site for additional protection,” the gray-haired man cuts in.

“No.” I take one step closer to her. Close enough that I can feel the heat of her, the sharp edge of her fear.

“No one else stays,” I say. “You drop her. You leave.”

“She’s a federal witness,” he replies. “There are procedures—”

“Not here.”

Behind me, my brothers step forward without being told. One of them kicks a broken rifle farther into the dirt.

The message doesn’t need translating.

The boss studies the clearing. The blood. The men still groaning.

He gives a long sigh. “You’re taking responsibility for her?”

“Yes.” I give a deep nod.

The girl wheels on him, eyes dazzling blue. “No. Absolutely not. I’m not staying here.”

The man steps forward, holding out an envelope.

“Here’s your compensation. You’ll find it generous—”

I knock it aside without looking. It drops between us.

“Don’t want it.”

Torin scoops it up with a grin. “I’ll take a look.”

I ignore him.

The man sets a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “We’ll be in contact.”

She shrugs him off at once. “Take me somewhere else. Anywhere else. Please!”

Her voice breaks on the last word, and it gets me right in the chest.

The boss steps away sharply and gets back into the SUV, slamming the door behind him.

The injured men are already being hauled into the rear seats. One leaves a dark smear across the door.

Engines start.

The convoy pulls out, tires crunching over gravel and broken rifles.

I don’t watch them leave.

I’m watching her.

Her chin lifts.

She doesn’t retreat.

Good.

I step closer.

Close enough to see the pulse beating at the base of her throat.

The scent of her fills my lungs.

She thinks she’s being abandoned.

She thinks she can leave. That this is temporary.

She has no idea what she is to me.

Mate.

The word settles into my bones like it’s always been there, waiting.

She can fight me.

She can hate me.

It won’t change what she is.

Mine.