This Fallen Prey (Rockton #3)(54)

“And that, kitten, is a bear,” Cypher whispers.

It is indeed, and it’s right there, next to Jacob’s tent, ripping through a pack on the ground. It’s not a grizzly, which is some relief. It’s a big black, though. A boar in his prime, maybe three hundred pounds. When he stands to sniff the air, he stretches to my height.

I cast a quick look around the camp. There’s no sign of Jacob, and I exhale. While black bears aren’t nearly as dangerous as browns, they can kill if provoked. Jacob knows better than to provoke one. Cypher on the other hand . . .

“You got a clear shot at it, kitten?” he asks.

“Only if it attacks,” I say.

“If you’ve got a clear shot, take it.”

“No,” Dalton says. “She won’t. We can’t skin it here, so we’re not taking it down unless we have to.”

“Fuck, don’t tell me you’re one of those. Doesn’t like killing things unless they need killing.”

“Weird, I know,” I say.

“Life’s a whole lot less dangerous if you just take out everything in your path. Kill or be killed. It’s the way of the jungle.”

“We’re not in the jungle,” Dalton says. “This is boreal forest.”

“Stop reading, okay? Just stop.” Cypher sighs. “Fine, so how you want to do this, nature boy? Ask the bear if we may approach?”

“We’re going to spook it. Casey can cover—”

Storm growls.

“I think your pup wants in on the fun,” Cypher says.

Storm growls louder. She’s straining at my grip, every hair on her body raised, head lowered. The bear rears up again and looks our way.

“Fuck,” Cypher says. “Can we shoot it now?”

“Well, that depends,” Dalton says. “Unless you’ve actually learned to aim a gun, you’d have to hold the dog while Casey shoots. And pray that Casey’s nine-mil will take the bear down in one shot from this distance.”

“You’ve got a three-fifty-seven.”

“I’m left-handed.”

Cypher glances at the sling on Dalton’s left arm. “Can’t just be right-handed like normal people. Fucking inconvenient, you are.”

“Eric?” I say. “As fun as this debate is, I’m going to back Storm up before that bear decides to charge. Ty, take my gun. Eric, if you need to shoot, even with your right, you’ll probably do better than him.”

“Guns are unsporting,” Cypher says. “I fight with my hands.”

“You do that then, and I’ll keep my gun.”

“I’d rather you kept it anyway,” Dalton says.

I start backing Storm up. It’s a tug of war, but she allows me to inch her away. Dalton lopes off to the side, making just enough noise to pull the bear’s attention.

I continue backing off until we’ve lost sight of them, and that’s when Storm finally settles. She grumbles and grunts, not unlike a bear herself, her shaggy head turning from side to side as she sniffs the air. I manage to get her lying down and park my butt on top of her.

I hear a “Hie! Hie!” from the camp. That’s Dalton. Cypher uses more colorful language to convince the bear it’s time to go. Both crash through the undergrowth, making as much noise as they can. When a shot fires, I tense and Storm whines, but it’s a warning shot, followed by crashes heading the other way and accompanied by the grunts of a fleeing bear.

“Casey?” Dalton calls.

“Right here!”

“He’s taking off. We’re going to check out the camp. Are you okay where you are?”

“I am.”

“Then stay there with Storm in case the bear circles back.”

“Got it.”

I listen to the forest, gun in hand, but all I can hear is the rustle and murmured talk of the men at Jacob’s campsite.

And then Storm leaps up. Leaps up, toppling me off her, and by the time I realize what’s happened, she’s a black blur disappearing into the forest.

I race after her. It happens so fast that I presume she’s heading for the campsite, and I’m not too concerned about that. Then I realize we’re heading in the opposite direction.

I should have shouted. If I’d even just yelled for Storm, Dalton would have heard it. I do now. I call for her, and I call for him, but I’m still running, stumbling through thick undergrowth, and I can tell my voice isn’t loud enough to carry back to Dalton. But I cannot stop because in that moment, I am absolutely certain that if I do not catch Storm, I’ve lost her. She’s running, and I see her, and as long as I can do that, I still have her.

I stop shouting for Dalton and call to her instead. Storm. Get back here. Stop. Come. Wait.

It’s too many commands. I know that. I’m panicking and shouting whatever comes to mind, and she is not stopping. Goddamn it, she is not stopping. I should have her on a leash. She isn’t ready for this, not well enough trained, and my hubris has failed her.

The ground opens up as we veer toward the mountain base. I can see her easily now, bounding over the rock. She’s chasing something. I catch a glimpse of brown fur. Tawny. A deer? It leaps over rock, and as it jumps onto one, I see . . .

I see that it’s not a deer.