Boarlander Silverback (Boarlander Bears #3)(2)

“I saw the vultures. I had to make sure no one was hurt. That’s part of the job description.”

He huffed what sounded like an empty animalistic laugh.

“I didn’t pick this job, just so you know. I’m not here because I want to hurt you.”

Kirk held two bloody fingers out and gave her a dead look. Right.

“I thought you were going to…you know…kill me. You have teeth and strength.” She gestured to her holster. “This is my only weapon.” She shifted her weight from side to side, debating. “I have first aid at my cabin. I can help.”

Kirk blinked slowly and turned his face away, but he was holding his shoulder now, and she knew the pain he was hiding. She’d seen it before. The tuna fish sandwich she’d had for lunch threatened to come back up. She’d done that—hurt him.

“C-can I see if there is an exit wound?”

Kirk shot her a quick glance, then sat stoically, staring off into the woods as though the surrounding pine trees were the most interesting thing he’d ever seen. She knew what he was doing. He had positioned himself between her and the deer carcass, blocking her view of it completely.

Alison dragged in a deep breath and held it, then approached slowly. God, this was a bad idea. A stupid, terrible, awful idea, and yet here she was, taking step after step toward a Changed, injured shifter. And not just some bird shifter, either. No, she’d chosen one of the biggest, baddest shifters of them all. “Please don’t kill me,” she murmured.

Kirk turned his back on her, and she would’ve thought this was his tactic to ignore her so she would be on her way, but from here, she could see his shoulder, and unfortunately, it was intact, which meant she hadn’t shot clean-through. He still had metal in him. Shit on a stick. This was bad, bad, bad.

“Kirk, you still have the bullet in you and—”

The titan silverback grunted and shrank into his human form, his back still to her. She’d only seen pictures of his face, but she stumbled to a stop at the view of his wide shoulders. His arms were defined and his waist tapered, and as he stood, his powerful legs and ass were on display. Holy hell, he was beautiful, if that word could be given to a man as masculine and dominant as him. With a grunt, Kirk’s back muscles jumped. He held out his hand at an angle away from himself, opened his palm, and a small, misshapen ball of metal fell from his red fingertips.

Kirk’s hair was longer, shoulder-length, and mussed in that just-woke-up look she’d always found eternally sexy. He turned his face, giving her his profile, and in a hoarse voice, he ground out, “You don’t have to worry about the Boarlanders. Your trigger-happy secret is safe with me.”

“I…” Fuck, what could she even say? Another apology didn’t do justice to what she felt inside.

“Leave,” Kirk demanded. In a softer voice, he murmured, “Please.”

But just the thought of leaving him like this made her sneakers feel like tree roots. Unable to move, Alison pushed for more time with him. “The kill. It’s not yours.”

Kirk rounded and strode toward her, his massive dick swinging with every powerful step. Holy shit, he’d looked good from behind, but his front was even better. He had long, muscular legs, eight-pack abs that flexed with every heaving breath, and a ripped chest. It wasn’t until her attention shifted to the stream of blood down his left pec that she began to feel guilty at checking him out. And when she lifted her gaze to his gloriously pissed-off face, she knew she’d made a misstep in staying. She should’ve left when she had the chance.

“You want to know who is to blame for that animal’s death back there?” Kirk asked in a dangerous, gravelly voice as he stopped right in front of her, so close she could feel his warmth.

Alison still hadn’t figured out how to convince her legs to move, so she angled her head all the way back to look up at him and whispered, “Who?”

“You,” he gritted out. “I assume you’ve done all your research on us, right? The shifters in these mountains are just pieces of paper with stats. Does your research tell you what Harrison has been through?”

“Well…”

“Tell me, and I swear to God if I hear a lie in your voice, I’ll tell the dragon you put a bullet in me.”

She gulped at the seriousness of his threat. In no way, shape, or fashion did she want Damon Daye to learn of this. He would burn her and eat her ashes, just like he did to anyone who got in his way.

“Harrison Lang grew up in an abusive household,” she said softly. “Mom died when he was young, and dad got more violent after she did.”

“Right. And then he grew up and got a crew under him because his animal needed it. And do you know what he did? He didn’t lash out like his father had taught him was right. He took a bunch of f*cked-up bears and made them as safe as possible because you and your people can’t seem to stop shooting at us. When you and your * partner came in the night for Emerson, weapons pulled like f*cking cowboys, you had your guns pointed at two people who barely survived multiple bullet wounds.”

“Two people,” she whispered, horrified.

“Georgia of the Gray Backs and Harrison, alpha of the Boarlanders, were poached.”

“Poached?” The word tasted bitter on her tongue.

“Humans paid a guide to bring them up here and hunt the Boarlanders. Along with Georgia, Harrison cut them off, protected the crew, but sacrificed themselves in the process. She was human, he was a bear, and now they both have matching scars, inside and out.”