SAWMAN WEREBEAR
(SAW BEARS, BOOK 4)
By T. S. JOYCE
Other Books in the Saw Bears Series
This book was not written as a standalone.
The author recommends to read these stories in order for optimal reader enjoyment.
Lumberjack Werebear (Book 1)
Woodcutter Werebear (Book 2)
Timberman Werebear (Book 3)
Sawman Werebear
Copyright © 2015 by T. S. Joyce
Copyright © 2015, T. S. Joyce
First electronic publication: April 2015
T. S. Joyce
www.tsjoycewrites.wordpress.com
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the author’s permission.
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental. The author does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for third-party websites or their content.
Published in the United States of America
Chapter One
Brighton Beck scanned the hole-in-the-wall diner his alpha, Tagan, had ordered him to meet at today. A cloud of smoke plumed from the kitchen as the cook worked furiously on the lunch rush orders. The tables were all full except for a couple of booths off in the corner and a single table in the center.
Brighton picked the table right in the middle so Tagan couldn’t bawl him out. If he did, at all. His alpha was much better than the last one. He was wary around humans and didn’t like to draw attention to private Ashe Crew affairs.
He should probably just man up and take the verbal lickin’ in the corner booth, but he still didn’t have control over his animal, and he couldn’t let Tagan see how bad off he was. No need for the crew to worry about him. It wasn’t like they could do anything to fix him, anyway. No one could.
The bell dinged over the front door, and Brighton stopped shredding the napkin on the table in front of him. Tagan’s nostrils flared, and he frowned at a mousy-looking woman at a two-top table near the front, then swung his bright blue gaze to Brighton.
With a nod in greeting, he made his way to the counter and ordered a hamburger and sweet potato fries to go. Even over the noise of the murmured conversation around him, Brighton could make out his request from all the way across the room. He was more in tune to the Ashe Crew. Humans were easy to ignore.
“You look like shit,” Tagan said as he took the seat across from him.
Brighton snorted and leaned forward on his elbows, waiting.
Tagan cocked his head and stared at him for a long time, then mirrored his posture, leaning toward him. “You know why I called you here?”
To yell at him and order him to come home. Brighton shook his head instead of answering. That was the upside to having no voice. No lies, no shaky words, no way for other shifters to tell when he wasn’t telling the truth.
“You’ve been gone for three months now. You haven’t been returning Denison’s texts, and he’s worried about you. Hell, I didn’t even know if you’d show up today. I know the battle at the landing was hard on you. I know seeing that asshole who tortured you was…” Tagan leaned back and ran his hands through his hair, then sighed. “I can’t pretend to understand what that was like, but at some point, we need you back. Logging season is coming up quick, we’re down a man on the jobsite, Haydan is shite on the processor, Denison isn’t singing at night anymore without you, and if I’m being honest, the trailer park ain’t the same without you in it. It’s just not.”
Brighton felt someone watching him and slid his gaze to the woman at the two-seater table. She had medium brown hair, pulled back into a ponytail, not a stitch of make-up on, and her eyes looked hollow, as if she were sick. She wore a sundress of thin, dark material printed with tiny flowers, and clunky black boots with the laces untied. Cornflower blue irises watched him intently, like she could hear every word Tagan said. But she couldn’t because she smelled human, which meant she had dulled senses just like the rest of her kind. Humans were practically deaf.
When he looked at Tagan again, his alpha was staring at him with raised eyebrows, waiting.
Brighton scribbled onto a small notepad he kept in his back pocket. I’m not ready to come home yet.
Tagan crossed his arms and relaxed into his seat. “Brooke’s pregnant.”
Brighton jerked his head up and stared at his alpha in disbelief. Already? But it took shifters years to get pregnant. That’s what he’d been told his entire life, and now Tagan’s mate was going to have a cub? A smile took his face, the first in months, and the stretch of his lips felt good. The Ashe Crew was going to have a cub. He leaned back and looped his fingers behind his head.
Whatever Tagan saw on his face pleased him because the alpha laughed and shook his head. “You should see the shock on your face right now.”
Oh, he didn’t doubt it. Tagan could’ve knocked him over with a blade of wheat right now and he’d go right over. Holy shit. A cub.
“That’s not all. Danielle has chosen not to Turn. Denison is going to propose to her instead. We’re planning the wedding.” The smile slipped from Tagan’s lips. “You need to be there for your brother. He’s having a hard time, too. I think he’s getting some of those memories from the lab back, but he’s not talking about it to anyone. Apparently stubborn runs in your family.”
Hell, if Denison was getting those memories back, that was a shame. He was the lucky one, having repressed what had happened during the experiments. Denison deserved to be happy with his mate after what they’d gone through. Danielle was good for him—always had been.
When? he scribbled across the second line of the ruled notepad.
“A week from today.”
I’ll be there. Of course he would be there. It was Denison, his twin. He’d die for him, and he’d die for Danielle, too. They were the best part of his life.
The cashier called out Tagan’s name, and he stood, then clapped Brighton on the shoulder. “It’s good to see you, man. We’ve missed you.”
Emotion thickened in Brighton’s throat as he watched Tagan grab the to-go bag of food and saunter out of the restaurant.
Brighton went back to shredding the napkin as he thought about all that had happened at the trailer park since he’d been on his bender. No, not him. His friggin’ bear. His inner monster had more control than he could ever let the others know, and until he found some kind of compromise with the snarling animal inside of him, going back to the Ashe Crew was off the table.
“Can I eat beside you?” a timid voice asked.
Brighton jerked his attention to the unassuming woman who was now standing beside his table, holding a basket with a half-eaten hamburger in it.
He scented the air again, but she still smelled like a human, and right now, he trusted them about as much as he’d trust a rattlesnake. He shook his head and watched her face fall.
She made to go, but stopped. “If you don’t talk any, I don’t mind. I don’t talk much either.”
He gave her a hard glare and gritted his teeth. Times like these made him wish he still had a voice just so he could tell her to piss off and bother someone else.
“It’s just,” she said, voice dipping to a whisper,
“I feel better around you.”
Brighton narrowed his eyes. What a strange thing to say to someone she didn’t know from Adam. He could see she was sick from the way her bones stuck out and the way the dress she wore swallowed her up. She looked like she hadn’t slept in days, and deep, dark circles marred what would’ve been a pretty face. Whatever was wrong with her, he couldn’t help her. He couldn’t even help himself right now.
Brighton shook his head again in denial, and her shoulders slumped.
“Thanks anyway,” she murmured, then made her way back to her table, clutching the plastic red basket with her lunch in it.
He needed to leave, but something about that girl made him sit glued to his chair. There was something peculiar about her. Not her, but in the air around her. He could sense tiny vibrations drifting from her skin, but she didn’t look uncomfortable or overly stressed. Just sad.
But the more he stared, the harder the air that hovered just above her shook. And suddenly, she looked up at him, wide-eyed, then went ridged and collapsed onto the floor.
He was to her in moments, but hell if he knew what to do. Her hands were clenched, her neck arched back, and her face was a mask of fear as her body seized. She couldn’t go on like this forever, could she?
“Oh my God, what’s happening to her?” asked a man poised above him who smelled rank with the scent of grilled onions. “Someone call 911!”
The woman’s eyes were closed tightly now as her body convulsed. Panicked, Brighton lifted her head off the tile floor and yanked his belt off in one smooth motion, then shoved the leather between her teeth. Seconds dragged on as he covered her with his body, stroking her hair out of her face and wishing he had a voice to murmur nonsensical words to her.
Her body drew in on itself, relaxing from the seizure, and she gasped. As Brighton leaned over her, cradling her head, she opened her eyes, and he froze. They churned silver, like mercury, and now he smelled it. Fur.
He didn’t know how she was doing it, but she’d been repressing an animal inside, and now her inner beast was clawing to get out of her.
This woman wasn’t human at all.
She was a damned grizzly in disguise.
Chapter Two
Brighton didn’t think, only reacted. He pulled the limp woman against his chest and bullied his way out the door.
“Hey!” a woman with worried eyes called as he passed. “I’m calling an ambulance. I don’t think you should move her! Where are you taking her?”
Brighton ignored her. She wouldn’t ever know it, but Brighton was saving the woman’s life. He was probably saving everyone in the joint, because if the woman in his arms shifted here, her inner animal was going to be pissed and out for blood.
Repressing her grizzly. Brighton almost snorted. How stupid could she be? That was like poking an alligator with a two inch stick. Once her bear got her way and ripped out of her, there was going to be hell to pay. His bear was scary enough, but damn, a pissed off she-bear was a terrifying sight to behold.
He kicked open the door with his heavy work boot and strode straight for his car. He shot a worried glance down at her, but she remained placid in his arms, staring up at him with tired, sad, silver eyes, as if she couldn’t remember how to move. Or maybe she didn’t want to. She reeked of bear. Hang on, girl.
His beat-up clunker Chevy pickup was parked around the corner in the parking lot of Sammy’s Bar. His heart pounded as he turned the corner and nearly ran into a lady holding a little boy’s hand. She shrieked and yanked her kid out of the way as Brighton lurched around her.
The woman in his arms slid her arms up his chest and around his neck before she squeezed her eyes closed and pressed her face against his sternum. He stared down at her as she cuddled up to him like he was some fuzzy teddy bear and not a damned monster. She’d managed to shock him to his middle. Who was this woman?
As if she’d heard his thoughts, she whispered, “My name’s Everly Moore. If I don’t make it, tell Momma I’m sorry.”
When she let off a little helpless, pained sound, he had to close his eyes momentarily and steady his breathing before he shifted right along with her. She needed to stop. Stop being needy and hurt and sad.
A deep humming came from within him, the closest to a growl he could manage and, shit, she was drawing his bear from him. What was he supposed to do with her? He couldn’t just leave her here to let the world know bear shifters existed. He of all people knew how dangerous it was for humans to know about them. But sticking her in the front seat of his truck within touching distance…well, that seemed even more dangerous somehow.
He didn’t have a choice, though. The woman had to come with him. He’d have to find out who her people were and take her back there, dump her on them, and be done with her. Yep, that was exactly what he was going to do. Then he could go back to trying to sort out his own life instead of meddling in someone else’s.
With the fingers he had hooked under the back of her knees, he yanked the handle to his truck and settled her as gently as he could into the passenger’s seat, then buckled her up, ignoring the small crowd who had gathered at the mouth of the parking lot. Apparently, the onlookers had followed him from the diner. Freakin’ great.
He slammed the door too hard, but it was out of his control now. His bear was clawing to get out of his skin, his eyes probably blazing bright silver. Slipping on a pair of sunglasses that he had hooked on the collar of his T-shirt, his hands tingled like they always did right before an involuntary Change. His truck was about to be shredded by not one, but two grizzlies, and damn it all if this wasn’t the worst idea he’d ever had.
He slid in behind the wheel, cranked the engine, then peeled out of the lot, fishtailing and spewing gravel behind him. He sped through a stale yellow light and hit the back roads out of Saratoga.
A low snarl came from the woman, but when he looked over at her, she had her eyes closed and looked white as a phantom, as if she’d passed out cold. He sped down the old logging roads that led to his cabin nestled in the Wyoming wilderness. But with every mile that passed under the tread of his tires, the humming in his body grew harder to manage. He was shaking now, hands gripped on the steering wheel, trying to anchor himself to his human skin, but he was losing ground by inches.
Lightheaded, dizzy, cold sweats, hot flashes, no air in the cab of the truck, and rolling the window down only made his bear want out that much more. Brighton wasn’t going to make it to the cabin.
Slamming on the breaks, he gritted his teeth and hunched in on himself, doubling over at the pain in his stomach. He threw the car into park, opened the door, and fell out. Mindlessly, he pulled at his shirt as it constricted around his torso, suffocating him. His insides were shredding, ripping apart as he fought the animal inside of him.
Fighting never worked.
It only made the agony worse.
Brighton threw his head back, and for the millionth time, he wished he still had his voice so he could roar his rage at the world as he Turned.
****
The sun shone right against Everly’s eyelids, waking her from what felt like a sleep as deep as a canyon. Her body didn’t want to work yet, but she could at least flutter her eyes open. She squinted as her vision adjusted to the late afternoon sunlight streaming through the canopy of pine trees above.
Where was she?
Grunting, she sat up, but was hindered by a seatbelt. She had fallen asleep on the bench seat of that quiet stranger’s truck. She blinked rapidly and looked around. The door to the truck was ajar, and the stranger was nowhere to be seen.
“Hello?” she called, fear and confusion swirling in her chest, making it even harder to move. She always felt like grit after a seizure. Mortified, she remembered the stranger putting his belt in her mouth. He’d looked so worried, emerald green eyes wide, dark hair mussed and hanging over his forehead as he stared down at her.
She was the worst at first impressions.
And now… She searched the eve
rgreen woods that surrounded the dirt road where the truck sat at an angle. The stranger seemed to have ditched her in the middle of nowhere.
Her luck just kept getting better and better.
Movement to her right drew her attention, and she sighed in relief. The man was walking through the trees, straight for the truck, his eyes on her window as if he could see right through the dark tint to her.
He wore low slung jeans with holes worn into the knees over thick-soled work boots, a double cord of leather looped around his neck and nothing more. A dark beard covered the bottom half of his face, making it impossible to see his lips. He moved like some graceful panther through the woods, never stumbling or missing a step, but with his eyes on the truck, as if he’d walked that path a hundred times before. His stony chest and eight-pack abs flexed with every step, and as he swung his muscular arms, she could see the curl of inky lettering on the inside of his bicep. His skin was smooth and tanned over his shoulders, but perfect lines of red, angry scars ran from the defined shadowy line between his abs around his ribcage. There had to be ten at least that she could see, and all spaced perfectly, as if he’d mutilated himself for the sake of art. A chill rippled up her spine as he approached, looking tiger-striped and dangerous. His eyes stayed on her as he walked around the front of the truck.
“What happened to your stomach?” she asked through the open driver’s door, unable to help herself.
He gave her a withering look, then faced his scars away, picked up his discarded gray T-shirt on the ground, and pulled it over his torso in one smooth motion.
He slid into the truck and slammed the door. Staring ahead, he clenched and unclenched his hands, looking at them as if he’d never seen them before. With a sigh, he glared at her, then slid closer. Without warning, he pressed her forward and unzipped her dress in the back.
She gasped and jerked away, but he’d already pulled it to the side, exposing her shame.