Chapter 9
Alan came awake slowly. The aches hit him first. Head throbbing.
Kink in his back. And his left arm was numb because he was lying on it.
Those filtered in along with derisive laughter from somewhere.
Young men being cruel, and the noise didn’t fit with the feel of grass on his face and the scent of rich dirt.
Pain flashed bright on his temple, and he recoiled.
Something had hit him with a metallic clang, and he came up with a snarl.
An empty beer can rolled away from him. His eyes focused with animal intent on two teen boys, not even old enough to shave.
But they’d found beer somewhere, and it had brought out their cruel side.
Another can hurtled toward him, and he slammed it aside with preternatural speed.
Oh, shit. Monster in charge. The air turned foul with his scent, and fur sprouted across his arms and legs.
He dug his toes into the dirt and sprang for his attackers.
They were standing frozen, their mouths hanging open in shock.
Only one still had a beer can in his hand.
Alan slapped that out of a meaty fist, then followed up with a blow to the idiot’s torso.
His attacker was solid enough to take the impact, but even so the teen lost his feet.
His friend was just turning, fists at the ready, but Alan didn’t give him the chance.
He grabbed the second one by the shoulders and threw him on top of his friend.
The two assholes cried out in a terrified tangle of arms and legs.
Alan advanced, watching carefully as he tallied weaknesses. A dozen different way to kill his tormentors. Except his brain was finally coming online, and it was screaming that they were children. Cruel teens who deserved a good spanking, but not death.
Frighten them! Don’t kill them!
He slowed his steps, his breath heaving as he fought the adrenaline.
That gave the boys time to get to their feet.
One took off, his speed good enough for any track team.
The other clenched his fists for a fight.
Alan let loose a snarl that had the boy paling.
He pivoted and sprinted after his friend.
Gone.
The word echoed in his brain, keeping him from pursuing his attackers like prey. It fought with all the other instincts that said: Kill. Eat.
He locked his muscles and grabbed the nearest tree trunk to steady himself. As he watched, his claws shifted solidly back into a hand.
The monster receded. Not gone. More like an armed détente. But for the moment, he’d take it.
Alan looked around, his sluggish brain trying to orient itself. He was in the woods near a lake, his feet burned like fire, and he stank. Not just his monster BO, but sweat and tree resin and God only knew what else. And he was hungry.
That last information came in the form of a stomach cramp that nearly brought him to his knees. His belly was empty and had been since...
Tonya.
Oh, shit. Memories came flooding back too fast for him to process.
He’d attacked her. Oh, hell. He’d attacked her as a monster and tried to mount her in any of a billion different ways.
He remembered throwing her against a wall and then trying to pin her.
She’d been a grizzly, thank God, so he hadn’t killed her. But shit, shit, shit what had he done?
He had to call her. He reached for his cell phone only to realize he was just wearing shorts. Nothing else. That was all he’d had on when she’d burst into his hotel room and...
Holy God, she’d Tasered him! He remembered on a visceral level the voltage bursting through his consciousness.
The man in him had been struggling to control the monster, but at that lightning bolt, his body and mind had gone white hot.
The two of them had fused into one. Then man and monster had gone after the woman, and now he had no excuse.
He couldn’t just say, “The monster did it.” He’d been one person, one consciousness, and all of him had intended to subdue her in the most primal way.
He had to find her. He had to know if she was okay. But he couldn’t talk to anyone like this. He headed toward the lake.
He could swim the worst of the stink off and—if he was lucky—catch a fish or something. He was a monster, after all. He might be good at that.
He wasn’t. But he was a good swimmer. So he decided to swim the lake looking for help.
He also hoped that the exercise would burn off his emotions like they had in high school.
No luck there. Every stroke, every kick, echoed with worry for Tonya.
Fortunately, he found another swimmer before his head exploded from his fears.
A little girl in pigtails and a one-piece swimsuit covered in ruffles. She looked about eight years old and her mother was calling her in from the water. She was hiding in the reeds, giggling to herself as Mom got increasingly frantic.
Kids could be such jerks. He stroked closer, making sure to splash the child. She squeaked in alarm and that was enough for her mother to zero in on the sound.
“Megan Michele, you get over here this instant!”
Little MM shot him an angry glare, but she obeyed her mother, climbing out of the reeds and skipping over as if she hadn’t just panicked the woman who loved her the most. Meanwhile, Alan climbed out as well.
He didn’t have a towel or anything that could make him look less terrifying, so he simply smoothed the hair back from his dripping face and stood a careful distance away.
“Oh!” the woman gasped. “I didn’t see you there.”
“I just swam over,” he said using his most civilized, lawyer voice. “I’m sorry if I startled you. I’m afraid I’m in a bit of a bind.”
The woman frowned, her freckles endearing on her thin, oval face. She was tall and thin, her cutoffs looked ragged but the light tank top appeared new. And she tucked the child close behind her in an obvious show of protectiveness.
“I don’t mean you any harm,” he said. Then he scratched at his beard in self-conscious awkwardness.
“I was...mugged,” he finally said, deciding that was as close to true as anything else.
“I just want a phone so I can call my friend. I’m not sure if she.
..” He stopped, unable to speak. God, what if he’d killed Tonya?
The woman’s mouth dropped open in shock and suddenly her expression turned into fierce motherly concern. “Oh my God, your feet!” she cried as she took in the raw mess. “Here, take this.” She held out a pink towel obviously meant for the girl. “They just left you out here for dead?”
“That’s my towel!” little MM cried, but her mother pushed her back up a dirt path.
“Go get another one. And tell Hank—” A fierce wail cut through the air, this one a little boy’s. The woman winced as she turned a worried look over her shoulder. “Oh hell.”
“It’s okay,” Alan said. “I don’t need—”
“Of course you do,” she said as she stomped down toward him and shoved the towel in his hands. “Now come with me and don’t argue. I get plenty of that from my kids.” She rolled her eyes as the wailing continued. “I’m Gretchen, by the way.”
Alan knew next to nothing about little kids, but even he could tell that the boy’s scream wasn’t a pain scream.
This was toddler in full meltdown and he really didn’t want to brave that.
But Gretchen was in mother-bear mode, so he trudged along beside a sulking Megan Michele wondering if it would be better for him to leave them all alone.
Gretchen obviously had enough troubles without him along.
But he didn’t. Something in him warmed to any woman in mother mode. Perhaps it was because he’d lost his own so young, but he found himself reluctant to disobey Gretchen. And so he followed her up a muddy path to where a toddler was red-faced with fury in front of a big guy.
A really, really big guy. Like shifter big. He was fully human at the moment, complete with military tats and close-cropped hair, and he squatted in front of the boy with animal stillness. Then his nose twitched as Alan stepped into the campsite.
Alan froze, knowing better than to startle a shifter. His own nose twitched, but he wasn’t refined enough with smells to pick out anything beyond coffee and fried fish. His stomach growled, and he stifled a curse when the woman shot him a pitying look.
“Oh, you poor thing,” she said. Jesus, he was a grown-assed man and she was looking at him like he was a lost eight-year-old.
“I just need to borrow a phone. Please.” It might have worked if the toddler hadn’t started wailing again, throwing himself on the ground as he rolled in the dirt.
Nothing could be heard over that, and Gretchen huffed out a breath before heading toward the toddler.
She only got a step closer when the crouched man—probably named Hank—held up his hand.
“Let him express himself,” he said. His voice was deep and steady. Alan had no idea how anyone could hear the words over the kid’s racket, but the message was clear enough. Mom wasn’t to interfere while everyone waited on the boy.
Well, everyone but little MM. She rolled her eyes in the most dramatic way possible before stomping over to grab another towel. Mom shrugged and grabbed a thermos that she pushed into his hand.
“Coffee,” she said in a pause between wails and she gestured for him to drink it.
Alan did with gratitude, the lukewarm brew going a long way to steadying his thoughts. And while he swallowed, he heard Hank again, his voice steady and low, despite the continued wailing.
“I hear you, little man. You’re angry, right?
I hear you. I’d be angry too.” He kept repeating some version of hearing the boy’s anger for another minute.
Long enough for Alan to finish the coffee and look longingly around for any remains of the fish.
A moment later, he was rewarded with a bagel slathered in cream cheese.
“It’s all we got left,” Gretchen said.
“It’s your food—”