Husband Fur Hire (Bears Fur Hire #1)(5)

The man’s voice softened as he said, “You, too, Elyse Abram.”

The line went dead, and Elyse stared at the screen until long after it had gone dark. She couldn’t believe that five minutes ago she was thinking there wasn’t a decent man left on earth, and then one had called her unexpectedly.

Perhaps that was a sign.

Not everyone was as broken as Cole McCall, so maybe she could stop being so mad at the world and get on with living already.

And the first step to doing that was putting the ad in the newspaper, just like Uncle Jim had done all those years ago.

She would be damned if she was going to come out of another Alaskan winter this hungry.

****

Whatever situation Cole had put Elyse Abram in made Ian want to kill him twice. Some put-down orders haunted him. The ghosts of his marks seemed to cling to him. His animal wasn’t a killer for sport. He was defensive when cornered and could hold his own with any shifter who went on the attack, but being an enforcer wasn’t a choice. It was a career chosen for him by his lineage. Grizzly shifters were rare, and they were the biggest of all the were-animals. He and his brothers existing at all kept most of the shifters in Alaska in line. But sometimes when his hand was forced and someone went mad, hurt humans, or threatened to expose their kind, he had to hunt them when his animal didn’t see the point.

With Cole, it was different.

Inside, his bear was snarling to get the damned deed done already. And for the first time in as long as he could remember, Ian was concerned his bear was actually going to enjoy putting someone down. It was that little sniffle Elyse had made. That tiny noise had his bear churning in his gut, roaring to get out and bleed something.

What Elyse hadn’t known when she gave him the whereabouts of Cole’s brothers was that Ian was calling her from the bar in Nulato. Currently, he was sitting a mere thirty miles down the Yukon River from her homestead. So close.

Ian fingered the napkin under his beer and lifted his narrowed eyes to a pair of scraggly werewolves talking low between themselves in the darkest corner. Even from here, his nose burned with the stink of alcohol wafting off them. They must be in some kind of important conversation if they’d missed him sauntering in. He’d showered and trimmed his beard, and sure, he looked human enough right now, but there was no mistaking the scent of bear that clung to him, and werewolves had impeccable senses of smell.

Miller’s nostrils flared, and he jerked his pissed-off glare to Ian. There he was—alpha of the McCall pack and general *. Lean as a whip, disheveled, greasy hair, and a shade of blue eyes that screamed “somethin’ ain’t right.” Wild Miller, dipping his toe into the insanity pool, too.

He stomped over, his untied boots clomping with every step. “I know what you’re doin’ here.”

“Sit down.”

Miller slammed his fist against the table and leaned into Ian, eyes lightening by the second. “You tell that cunt-licker, Clayton, to take the order back.”

Ian kicked the chair across from him out from under the table and looked pointedly. “Sit down, or I’ll be hunting you next.”

Miller glanced back at his brother, Lincoln, who was still glued to his chair in the corner, ear turned, listening easily. Gritting his teeth, Miller sat down across from Ian and clasped his hands on the table. “He didn’t do nothin’ wrong.”

Ian laughed once and shook his head. “That’s the way you want to play this? You know what he’s done. Three strikes, McCall. If you didn’t want this, you should’ve kept your dog on a tighter leash.”

“He bit one trapper, but it ain’t like we can Turn anyone. Just a harmless little nip.”

“Bit one multiple times and dragged him through the woods, killed the next, and I know about the little girl, Miller, so stop the bullshit and tell me where he is.”

“I ain’t tellin’ you shit.” Miller leaned back in his chair with a smile and spat onto the wooden floor. “And you ain’t never gonna find him, Silver, you big. Dumb. Fuck. He’s off grid and out of your swatting range. You can give Clayton a personal message from me and my pack.” Miller lifted his middle finger and canted his head, his mad grin stretching even wider.

Off-grid and out of swatting range, and Miller was narrowing down his search area quite nicely. Cole would be in an old rundown cabin he thought everyone forgot about then. One without an airstrip around for Ian to land his plane.

Ian gave him a dead smile and downed his beer, then stood. “You have a nice day now, Miller. I’ll see you around.” Probably sooner than later and at the order of Clayton.

Miller stood so fast he blurred, breaking the rules and showing some of his strength to the unassuming humans staring at them from the bar top.

“Careful, doggy,” Ian said low.

“If you go after my brother, know this, Silver. I will summon every McCall in Alaska to my side. Me and my pack will hunt you down. You won’t be able to find a safe enough place to hide from us. And we’ll take our time about it, too. Maybe we’ll kill your brothers first. Eye for an eye and all that.”

“Tell them hi,” Ian said blandly. “I haven’t talked to the pricks in three years. Stay safe, McCall.”

The threat in that was intentional, and Miller had the good sense to keep his trap shut as Ian walked out of the bar.