Chapter 62

Chapter 62

Jesse

In class, at my brother's bar, or even when at one of my parent's parties, I could always tell when shit was going to go down. Perhaps growing up the way I did meant my brain was primed to pick up the tiny details. A body tensed, a squirrelly look, or a raised voice, I'd catch each and every one of them, right before things erupted.

And my spidey senses were going off right now.

The night was drawing to an end, most people having staggered off into the darkness, and now my workmates were planning to do the same.

"Staying to moon after that girl again?" Greg asked. "We'll leave you to?—"

"No." I could count on one hand the amount of times I'd contradicted my boss, and his eyes widened slightly in response. "You… You told me to trust my instincts."

"And what're they telling you?" He picked up my hand and turned it, revealing the burn there, now ugly and blistered. "Bear boy."

Something I couldn't, wouldn't understand, that's what I thought as I got to my feet. It was the end of the night. Returning our glasses to the bar was a kindness, helping the staff finish up the night that bit faster.

That wasn't it.

Phil and I, that moment of connection deepened as he moved too, but his hands strayed to the knife at his belt. His eyes told me everything I needed to know if I could just decipher the madness there. A warning, that was clear, his glare made clear that if I dared to step in between him and his prey, I'd regret it.

But I was just as sure I'd regret it if I didn't.

Daisy looked up when I approached but her narrowed eyes, the small look of disappointment, was her undoing. She moved away from me, not closer.

Right into Phil's arms.

He was up and over the bar as the sound of a fox bark rang through the air, that meaty arm wrapping itself around a slim throat, that knife pressed against the skin.

"Don't."

Where had that voice come from? The depths of my soul, it appeared. It rumbled louder than the music coming from the speakers, silencing everyone in the pub.

Just not him.

"No, you don't." He jabbed the knife up, and I sucked in a breath so hard it felt like my whole chest would collapse, right as a little scream rose and then was choked off.

"No, no, no…"

His grin when Daisy clawed at his hands, her face growing redder and redder as he cut off her airway slowly, was like pure poison. I couldn't walk out into the world knowing some men looked like that. When they heard her cries of pain, of fear, it just got wider, a horrible light flickering to life in his eyes.

"No," I agreed, my palm burning, the blister bursting, blood and fluid running across my fingers. "No."

My hand slammed down onto the bar as other men muttered warnings. What I didn't expect to see was the wood creaking and splintering, the shape of my hand impressed in the lacquered surface. I stared at that and so did Phil, both of us frowning for a second before he recovered.

"Keep the fuck away." The point of the knife left a pink mark in its wake as it scored Daisy's skin. "I'll fucking gut her like a fish."

That wasn't a threat, it was a promise. He was breathing too fast, filling the air with the stink of his arousal. This was the moment he'd prepared for over and over, jerking his pathetic little dick, because it never got as hard as it did when he thought about hurting someone like he was now.

Yeah, me too.

I jerked away from the bar, moving with a speed and power I'd never felt before. There was something bittersweet about this because I'd wanted to for so fucking long. To be more than a helpless little boy, more than a useless man.

To be the bear I'd felt like I was destined to be.

My hand burned so fucking much, the pain shifting into agony, but I couldn't pay any attention to that right now. Everything was a blur. Daisy's wild eyes, her cries for me to stay away transmuting, her blonde hair becoming reddish, her eyes green. Phil was shouting something loud and incoherent, but it was the yapping of a tiny dog, unable to conceptualise how fucking unimportant he was.

Right as my entire world was torn open.

He was there all along, that was my last thought as a motherfucking polar bear landed on all fours inside a pub in remote Australia.

"Fuck…"

Those slack lips, the way the knife fell from Phil's limp fingers weren't enough. Not even when a thin trickle of piss pooled at his feet. Daisy shrieked and sprinted away from the man, but our focus was entirely trained on him.

He thought himself a predator, but he was the prey.

Watching him snatch up the knife and hold it up was laughable, and we roared in his face, watching his nerve break. The moment he turned and ran was delicious. Wild yips and barks followed me out into the night as we gave chase.

Our paws were made for rolling over ice floes and tundra, not desert, the air too dry, still too hot, but off we went. Phil threw a frantic look over his shoulder, his little legs working so hard to get him away from me, but it would never work.

One paw slammed into his back, flattening and driving the air out of him in the same moment. His breath came in ragged whoops as he tried to fill his lungs again, but we knocked him sideways. Rolling like the broken body of a dead deer, he was on his back, staring into my eyes.

"No…" he gasped, trying to get back up and failing when we shoved him back down. "No, no, I've got money—" My roar silenced him, echoing through the entire town, making clear what I thought about that.

"So you did have money."

Greg strolled up like this was any other customer negotiation, only the gleam of his eyes, the claws at the end of his hands, making clear how close the fox was.

"Yes, yes, I've got some…" Phil corrected himself quickly. "Lots, lots. Enough to make it worth your while?—"

Our paw slammed down beside his head, making clear what we thought of that idea.

"I'm not the one you need to plead with here," Greg said. "Bear boy…" Our head whipped around and we chuffed at the fox shifter. "This bear shifter here, he's the biggest fucking predator here right now, and that makes him judge, jury, and executioner."

The thin wail of police sirens made clear that role might be taken away from us, so we reared back on our back paws, making clear just how futile trying to escape was. Phil would get arrested, maybe charged for a crime, but he'd plead some bullshit before the human judge, get out on bail, and plan his next atrocity.

This was a man who stank of death and degradation, other people's blood somewhere under his nails. It was a particular kind of stink that I'd hoped to never smell again. The men that hurt me, knocked me around just to hear me scream or cry, and then laughed at the wanton cruelty of it. I couldn't help but see every fucking one of them right now, the bear and I as one as we pulled a paw back, ready to make Phil a bloody stain on the ground.

"There's some of your kind looking for this fuck." Greg rarely raised his voice and he didn't right now, just shooting me a sidelong look, like he was asking me if I wanted beer or a rum and Coke at the bar. "I know you want to kill him, and if that's really what you want, take him out into the darkness." His claws flexed and the rest of the fox shifters clustered closer. "We'll deal with the cops."

Yes, that, the bear decided, but Greg wasn't finished.

"But the bears that want this fuck? They want revenge on the man who hurt their fated mate. That might cause some tension in your community, denying them their prey."

One noisy breath, then another, came and went, but on the third, I pushed forward. Like emerging from beneath the water's surface, I stumbled out of the bear's skin and my foot slammed down on Phil's chest when he tried to rise. He wasn't moving me anywhere I didn't want to go. Greg slapped a roll of gaffa tape in my hand, the pain of my blistered palm gone now.

"Bind him up, throw him in the back of the truck I leant you," Greg instructed, turning to face down the headlights that were coming closer. "Drive him back to the city. The bears you're looking for? They have a women's refuge?—"

"Close to the city," I finished for him, knowing exactly where it was.

I was supposed to put some hours in there when they were still building the place but got drunk instead. Time to make amends, I thought, stretching out a length of tape and then using it to bind the weaselly fuck's wrists and ankles, slapping an extra piece over his mouth so when I tossed him in the tray of the truck, his cry was muffled to near silence. With new clothes found and some water and food, I was in the cabin of the truck, looking in the rear vision mirror before turning the ignition over and putting the car into gear.

"Ring Bjorn," I told my phone, the sound of its rhythmic buzz filling the cab as I set off down the road.