ALPHA’S PREY

I actually don’t expect her to obey me. She’s not a shifter so she doesn’t respond to alpha command for one thing. For another, she doesn’t know me at all. I’m a complete stranger ordering her to take off her panties. It could definitely be misconstrued.

After a couple beats, she wriggles around in the sleeping bag, but the movements seem to exhaust her and she falls still, just shivering.

Shit. I unzip the side of the sleeping bag and grab the sides of her panties. Her eyes fly wide when I pull them down.

I nearly shift right there. And it’s not to protect her.

Apparently my bear thinks this curvy human is the next best thing to a sow because my teeth sharpen in my mouth like he wants to give her a mating bite.

Crazy, crazy bear. I need to get this under control or I could inadvertently hurt this fragile human. I close my eyes and turn my face away in case my irises turned yellow. I fight back a growl from my bear. Fates, having a naked female within kissing distance does all kinds of things to the beast within.

Go back to sleep, bear.

Touching her, lying next to her naked body is the last thing I should do considering how little control I have over my animal. But it has to be done. Her life is still in danger.

I strip off all but my boxers, wedge myself in with her, and zip us in together. Her scent fills my nostrils-sun-warmed strawberries. Vanilla ice cream. Heat explodes down my limbs. I struggle to calm the bear, taking slow, measured breaths, focusing on the chill of her flesh against my burning skin.

I turn her to face away from me and mold myself to her back. She stiffens but doesn’t protest. I pray my intent is pretty clear-this isn’t a romantic moment, it’s a life-saving event.

At least I hope to hell it saves her life.

Her ample ass fills my lap. Her bare lush ass. Nothing between it and my cock but a thin pair of boxers.

I manage to angle my hips away as my cock lengthens. Prickles of heat run up my spine as the pain of the change comes right on me.© 2024 Nôv/el/Dram/a.Org.

Fates, at best I’m going to scare the female to death if she feels my manhood moving against her ass. Especially because bear cock… it’s huge. I’m not bragging, just stating fact. At worst, we could have a bear mauling situation.

No, I wouldn’t hurt her. My bear would never hurt a woman.

Keep telling yourself that, a voice in the back of my head whispers. You still don’t know for sure.

It’s hotter than hell in the sleeping bag. I’m sweating like a demon, but I’m relieved to feel her flesh warm against mine. Her teeth stop chattering. The shivering ceases.

The poor female, probably exhausted from her ordeal, slips into a gentle slumber.

I whistle softly to her dog, who’s pacing around us, keeping an eye on me, and I pat the spot on the other side of me. The loyal canine probably needs my body heat to warm up, too. He drops to his belly beside me, understanding. I scoot him against the sleeping bag, offering my side for him to mold into.

Now if I can just figure out how to stuff my bear back down and fall asleep with this king-sized boner.

Miranda

THE FIRST THING I notice is the sound of gentle snoring.

Right beside my ear.

Then I realize how crazy-hot I am. Like sweaty-hot. And my slick skin is sliding over someone else’s slick skin.

Oh God!

My eyes fly open as the memory of my rescue comes flooding back.

The beast of a man who threw me over his shoulder and brought me to his cabin is lying on his back beside me. My head rests on his arm, and-oh lordy, one of my legs is tossed over his, as if this is a post-coital snuggle rather than two perfect strangers lying naked in a sleeping bag together.

It’s dim in the cabin, only the first rays of morning light come through the windows, but a fire still burns in the hearth, illuminating the room with flickering amber light. I lift my head and stare at the stranger. He’s enormous, his muscled chest and arms inked with black tattoos. He has high cheekbones with hollows beneath and sports an unruly dark beard, like some kind of mountain man.

I don’t know if it’s the wildness about him-the formidable appearance and the gruff manners, the remoteness of his cabin-but a spike of fear suddenly shoots through me.

What if this is the serial killer? Maybe he kidnaps women and brings them up to this very cabin.

I need to get out of this sleeping bag. And this cabin.

Stat.

Of course the zipper for the sleeping bag is on the other side.

I ease my leg off the giant of a man and start to slither my way straight up, out of the sleeping bag. And that’s when I see the man’s other arm.

His tattooed limb-the one not serving as a pillow for my head-is curved protectively around Bear.

My breath escapes in a relieved puff-almost a laugh.

The memory of him using a hairdryer on my best friend comes flooding back.

He can’t be a serial killer. This man saved not only my life, but also Bear’s.

He probably likes to keep the women alive so he can torture them, the whisper of fear tries to point out. And serial killers can be dog lovers, too.

The thing is, he’s not a dog lover. I doubt he’s much of a people lover either. He was grim and grudging in his help yesterday. Would a serial killer be grudging if he had me where he wanted me? No, he’d be celebrating.

That’s what I tell myself, anyway.