Boarlander Silverback (Boarlander Bears #3)

Boarlander Silverback (Boarlander Bears #3)

T.S. Joyce




Chapter One


Alison Holman was definitely going to get maimed today.

She blew out a trembling breath and gripped her Glock 22 harder to steady her shaking hands. Above, more than a dozen buzzards circled in a tight group low to the ground. They would land soon, but before they found whatever had them on the hunt, she needed to make sure the shifters here weren’t into something that would bring war to Damon’s mountains.

It was hot and muggy, and even with her dull human senses, she caught a whiff of rot on the wind. Her hands were shaking again, and now fear was slowly freezing her blood. This was why she’d been given this shithole job. She wasn’t good under pressure. Not anymore.

When birds flew up from the knee-high grass in front of her, she startled hard and gasped. Good thing she didn’t have her finger on the trigger because she would’ve fired. Stupid Finn for being in town on a supply run. And stupid town for being so far away. And stupid life for leading her here to this terrifying moment.

She felt watched.

She always felt watched.

Breathe.

Angling her body, Alison stepped carefully out of the meadow and into the shadows of the pines. There. An animal, a deer maybe, had been killed, and the long slash marks down the back end said it was likely a bear. No, not just a bear, but a grizzly shifter. The monsters in these mountains would’ve pushed any predators out of the area.

It was too quiet. There were no chirping birds or soft rush, rush of the grass. The breeze dipped to an eerie stillness, and the fine hairs lifted all over her body. She resisted the urge to check the load in her weapon. She’d needed to make sure the monsters hadn’t killed a human, but now it dawned on her what she’d stepped into—a grizzly kill. And that half-eaten prey was something an apex predator would be fiercely protective of.

She should leave. Now.

Gritting her teeth, she backed away slowly, but froze when she saw movement through the trees. Just a flash of coal-black fur, and then a massive gorilla came charging through the trees. Alison couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything other than watch the terrifying speed and power with which the silverback ran toward her.

Run, run, run!

With a horrified gasp, she stumbled back a step and tripped on a tree root. She hit the ground hard, and with a grunt, she pulled the trigger. Boom!

The gorilla didn’t even slow down. She’d missed, and now she would die. He peeled back his dark lips, exposing long canines a second before he skidded to a stop. He slammed his fists to the ground on either side of her head so hard the earth shook. His barrel chest heaved as he inhaled deeply. He opened those terrifying jaws, then roared a deafening sound.

Covering her ears, Alison closed her eyes and waited. Waited for him to end her, waited to breathe her last breath. Maybe it was better this way. She wouldn’t be in purgatory anymore.

Just do it.

Something warm splatted against her shoulder. Pit, pat, pit, pat. Why wasn’t he killing her? She wanted to scream at him, “Hurry up!” Fear was the worst part of living.

With a whimper, she cracked open her eyes, and he was there, above her, more massive than she remembered from the night in the woods when she’d first met the Boarlanders. Kirk Slater was terrifying, enormous…beautiful. His eyes weren’t the soft brown she would’ve expected in a silverback, but were instead an intense, glowing gold. She lay trapped in his gaze as the warmth she’d felt earlier was now trickling in a steady stream from his shoulder. She hadn’t missed after all. Her stomach curdled with what she’d done.

“I-I’m sorry.” Her voice was too frail and weak. God, she was so sick of being weak. Stronger, she said, “I’m so sorry.”

Kirk blew out a breath, then, after a moment of hesitation, brushed her short hair from her face with a surprisingly gentle touch. His eyes softened as he ran his dark knuckle down her neck and collar bone to her bare arm. She’d been jogging when she’d seen the vultures, so she wasn’t in her uniform. She was in a tank top, and now his focus was on the half-sleeve of tattoos on her arm. She moved quickly to cover as much as she could with her empty hand. Those were for her and no one else.

With a loaded look she didn’t understand, Kirk punched off his powerful arms and backed away from her. He sat near a towering pine and canted his head slowly, watching her as if he’d never seen a woman cower before. Tricky monster. She knew better than to believe him soft.

He ran his fingers over the seeping wound on his shoulder, eyes on her with his chin tucked to his chest, then with an expressive frown, he looked at his crimson-smeared fingertips. He was giving her a chance to escape, so she scrambled up and holstered her weapon, then put her hands out as she backed away slowly.

He allowed it.

Alison didn’t understand. She’d shot him. Hurt him, but he was allowing her safe passage? It had to be a trick. Maybe this was the game—let her think she’d escaped, then charge her and pluck her head from her body like a grape from a stem. He was strong enough to do that.

But the questions…

Why had he charged her in the first place? That deer wasn’t his kill unless he grew bear claws, so what, or who, was he protecting? And then there was the little problem of her guilt over shooting him, making her legs feel like cement blocks she had to drag through the meadow. She stopped, and the silverback narrowed his eyes.