Woodsman Werebear

  WOODSMAN WEREBEAR

  (SAW BEARS, BOOK 6)

  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 (Book 4)

  Axman Werebear (Book 5)

  As well as the spinoff Fire Bears series

  Bear My Soul (Book 1)

  Bear the Burn (Book 2)

  Bear the Heat (Book 3)

  Woodsman Werebear

  Copyright © 2015 by T. S. Joyce

  Copyright © 2015, T. S. Joyce

  First electronic publication: July 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

  It came to Riley’s attention two years too late she had terrible taste and worse luck in men.

  Another knock pounded so hard against the doorframe, the vibration rattled a picture frame off the wall and shattered the glass across her tile floor. A pathetic whimper clawed its way up the back of her throat. With shaking hands, she threw another handful of clothes into the duffle bag on her bed

  “Riley, let me the fuck in! That’s my baby, too!”

  “No, she’s not! I’ve already explained that to you,” Riley screamed. “She isn’t yours, and she isn’t mine.”

  “The baby is a she?” His voice dipped to a calmer, saner tone. “I don’t care that you cheated when I was locked up, baby. I don’t even care that you testified against me.”

  Bullshit. She wouldn’t be fooled by Seamus Teague. Not this time. That man had the devil in him, and she was smarter now than when she’d been with him before.

  “I have a restraining order, Seamus,” she called out. “I’m calling the police.” Again.

  “No, you ain’t. You already done called ’em twice tonight, and I’m betting they told you to give it a rest last time they paid you a visit. Let me in, baby. Come on.” A soft, muffled sound filled the air, as if he was petting the door.

  He was right, damn his cunning. She’d felt watched all night and could’ve sworn his best friend Jeremy’s Toyota was parked in front of her apartment, but when the police had come out both times, Seamus was in the wind.

  And now he was going to kill her.

  The baby rolled inside the swell of her stomach. “Shhh,” Riley cooed, rubbing her hand over her taut middle. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  A fierce protectiveness washed over her as she straightened her spine and glared at the door. She wouldn’t be one of his victims, and she sure as shit wasn’t going to let this little angel be tainted by his poisonous love.

  When she looked around her apartment, at the furniture she’d picked out and the dishes waiting in the clear glass cupboards her mom had gifted her when she’d moved in, a deep ache bloomed inside of her. She’d had a good life here until Seamus had messed everything up. The court, too, since they’d been the ones to make his sentence light enough that he was here, threatening her, rather than rotting away in prison as he deserved.

  She wiped her sweating palms on her jeans and slid the strap of her duffle bag over her shoulder. Breath hitching and throat clogging with fear, she picked up a handgun she’d bought and learned how to use when she’d found out what a monster Seamus was.

  All she had to do was make it out the main door where her friend April was waiting to drive her to the bus station. If she left now, she’d make one of the last buses leaving for the night, and Seamus would be delayed searching for her.

  Checking the safety on her weapon, she padded to the door and threw it open wide.

  Aiming the gun, she gritted out, “Get the fuck out of my way, or I’ll pull this trigger and dance on your fucking carcass.”

  Seamus’s dark, empty eyes widened as if he was surprised—which was impossible because Seamus Teague didn’t feel emotions, the cold-blooded snake. He lurched forward, grip barely missing her weapon, but she expected nothing less from him and jerked it out of his way, cocking the gun at the same time.

  The crack of metal on metal stopped him, and slowly, he lifted his hands in surrender. A show, surely, because Seamus had never given up on anything as long as she’d known him. Riley gripped the handle harder to ease the tremble in her fingers, then twitched the gun impatiently. “I said move.”

  “Let’s just discuss this like civilized people. That baby might not be blood related to me, but we’re a family—”

  “Move!” she screamed, the heat of fury blasting up her neck.

  His snake-eyes narrowed, but he moved by inches, creating enough room in the doorway for her to get by.

  Never turn your back on a predator. She backed down the hallway, weapon trained on the place where Seamus’s heart should’ve been, if he had one.

  His lip curled up in a snarl as he watched her leave. “It don’t matter where you go, baby. And that restraining order don’t mean shit to me. I’ll find you no matter how long it takes to hunt you down. You got my baby in you now—my family.”

  “I told you,” she murmured, swallowing a sob. “She ain’t yours, and she ain’t mine.”

  Her back hit the swinging exit door, so she turned and bolted for April’s white Maxima parked right off the curb. Her friend had already thrown open the passenger’s side door, bless her intuition.

  Scream lodged in her throat, Riley slid into the car and shut the door as fast as she could before April peeled out of the parking lot.

  When she looked behind her, Seamus was standing by the door, watching her leave with such hatred in his face, he looked like the monster he was inside. Twin tears rolled down her cheeks as she faced the front again. She had to stop doing that—looking back.

  Looking back had stunted her ability to lead a better life when he’d been locked up.

  Looking back had thrown her life into a nightmare.

  Looking back had kept her from healing from the horror she’d witnessed.

  Riley nodded distractedly when April asked if she was all right.

  She would be. Had to be.

  Riley rubbed the tight swell of her belly and made another silent oath to protect the child she’d worked so hard to grow.

  She’d talked on the phone to the biological parents of the baby she’d agreed to be a surrogate for, but this was the first time she would meet them in person.

  And she sure as hell hoped Diem and Bruiser Keller were ready for the trouble that would be tailing her.

  Chapter Two

  The sound of cracking bone was deafening as the man’s fist connected with Drew’s nose. Iron trickled into his mouth as pain seared through his face. The contender’s eyes blazed an eerie green, and
Drew laughed and spat crimson onto the stained plywood floor. Fuckin’ shifter. He should’ve known.

  Haydan was yelling his name from the roaring crowd in the dingy warehouse, but Drew ignored him. Haydan followed him around everywhere lately, worried over him like a mother hen. Drew placed his fingers on either side of his nose and jerked it straight before the bones healed crooked. Shifter healing was a blessing and a curse.

  Straightening his spine, Drew pulled his wrapped fists up to defend his face and circled his opponent slowly. The ref had introduced the goliath as Kong. Nicely done. Drew bet the old muscled-up bruiser was a King Kong with a face-pummeling right hook like his. Good. At least a gorilla shifter would give him a good fight. Thrashing cocky humans had grown old.

  Sweat trickled down his bare shoulders as Drew ducked Kong’s oversize fist. Drew leered at him as he pulled back just out of reach of his swing, then he blasted the gorilla in the ribs, once, twice, and then a crack on the third fast hit. Kong was strong, but quick he was not.

  Drew’s inner bear roared for revenge, dumping adrenaline into his system. Fuck, he had to keep the animal inside his skin. If he showed the crowd what he really was, Tagan would have his hide as a bearskin rug for his kid to play on. His alpha had set down a no-getting-caught order until he decided if the Ashe Crew was going to come out to the public or not.

  Gritting his teeth, Drew took a hit to his middle for the chance to get close to Kong’s injured left side. He worked the cracked ribs, letting his mind go, living on instinct: ducking, dodging, hit, hit, swerve and circle back. Kong’s knuckles were relentless, but so were Drew’s, and a grizzly and a gorilla were a good match.

  The crowd went mad, cheering and screaming their monikers.

  “Kong, Kong, Kong!”

  “Beast, Beast, Beast!”

  This mob only applauded for blood, and he and Kong were staining the arena.

  The fight dragged on until every inch of Drew’s skin ached. Until his muscles tired and his knuckles were swollen and bloody. Until his arms felt like they were a hundred pounds. Until Kong’s face wept red, and the sneer slipped from his mangled lips. The gorilla shifter’s left side was purple, and he favored it. Drew huffed a laugh.

  He had him.

  All he had to do was stay conscious longer than Kong.

  Haydan was yelling his name again, but he could piss off. Drew already knew what he’d say. Your eyes, man. Hide your eyes.

  Yeah, they were probably glowing like shards of hardened ice right now, but fuck it all. He wasn’t in a position to slip on a pair of sunglasses—not when he was this close to winning the match.

  Drew charged. His fists connected with Kong’s side as he wore out every combination his bleary mind could conjure. Kong’s fists were brutal, pounding against him as he spent the last of his energy. He grunted when Kong landed a solid fist against Drew’s jaw, snapping his head back, but he wasn’t made of glass, and he was right back in there. Ribs, ribs, push off and boom! Drew’s fist connected with Kong’s jaw. Blood and sweat flung from his opponents damp hair on contact, and the behemoth hit the ground like a sack of bricks.

  One of Drew’s eyes was swollen shut, and his arms were heavy, as if they’d been made from cement, but he mustered the energy to give the crowd a bloody smile. The referee lifted his arm, declared him the winner, then pushed him toward Haydan, who looked disappointed.

  But worse than the look of utter disappointment was the fact that his alpha, Tagan, was now standing beside Haydan. Shit.

  A pair of jacked-up titans dragged Kong off the floor, smearing red across the dingy arena. Probably his crew.

  Drew sauntered over to Tagan and Haydan, but neither of them were talking now, and both of them smelled like fur.

  Judge, a squirrely man with two front teeth missing and shifty eyes, handed him a wad of fives and ones. “Good fight,” he said, smacking Drew on the shoulder and drawing a wince from him. “See you next week.”

  “Yeah, thanks. See you next week.”

  Tagan yanked the cash from his hand, counted it quickly, and shoved it into his chest. “A hundred dollars?” he said too low for the humans around them to hear. Drew, however, could hear him just fine. He could also hear the snarl that tainted the words. “A hundred dollars to risk outing us? That’s all it takes for you now?”

  Drew jerked the money from his alpha’s grasp and shoved it in his pocket. “A hundred dollars because I need the money, and until logging season starts up, I have to do what I have to do.”

  Drew shoved past him and Haydan and made his way through the crowd toward the exit. The cheering, jeering mob was focused on the next fight, two humans already smashing each other up, but without half the force of Drew’s fight. He’d earned this hundred dollars tonight. His fights drew the crowds, and Judge always invited him back. Saturday evenings were always good for a quick wad of cash.

  “Logging season starts in less than a week, Drew,” Tagan gritted out from behind him. “You couldn’t wait a few days to start making legit income?”

  Drew threw open the dilapidated exit door and strode across the gravel parking lot toward his old beater Ford pickup. “Come on, man. How long are you gonna bust my balls, huh? Everyone has a side-job in the off-season.”

  “Yeah, but none of the Ashe Crew takes jobs that threaten to expose us, Drew. None of us but you. I’ve told you to stop coming here—”

  “Tagan—”

  “I don’t want to fuckin’ hear it!” his alpha said with such force, Drew halted and the hairs on the back of his neck rose. Tagan came around the front of him and looked him square in the eye. “No more coming here. Season is starting, and until I decide whether or not we’re coming out to the public like the Breck Crew did, you’ll lay low and not force my hand. Drew…” Tagan’s voice softened. “I’m sorry about your mom—”

  “Don’t,” Drew ground out, closing his eyes and banishing the memories. “Don’t talk about her.”

  “Someone has to, man. You aren’t. You aren’t dealing with it at all. You’re just…” Tagan hooked his hands on his hips, bright blue eyes arcing toward the old barn they’d just come from. He shook his head. “Your bender needs to stop before you put us all in jeopardy. Control your bear, get your shit together, and come back to us. We don’t know this Drew.”

  Drew huffed in disgust, but he got what Tagan was saying. He didn’t recognize himself right now either.

  Tagan sighed and gave him the order. “You won’t come out here again. You’re done fighting until I say otherwise. Go home, Drew.” He turned on his heel and strode off toward his truck, Haydan following without a backward glance.

  They didn’t get it. Didn’t understand any of this. They should be celebrating his fights.

  When he fought, there was pain. There was burning and aching.

  At least when he fought, he felt.

  And if Tagan knew what was really going on with Drew’s bear, he’d be celebrating tiny victories right along with him, not banning him from the one thing that kept him sane.

  ****

  Riley stuck her thumb out again, but the old clunker truck passed right on by without even slowing. She’d blame it on the driver for being a dick, but mostly, she sucked at hitchhiking. It was probably the potato sack of a trench coat she was wearing to conceal her pregnancy and her hideous hacked-up hair she’d cut in a hotel bathroom mirror to go incognito. It looked so easy when women did it on television, but she looked like a four-year-old had gone to town on her locks with a pair of those safety scissors from preschool.

  And then the taxi driver had dumped her off on the mountain road with no explanation other than “the woods here are haunted, and this is as far as I’m willing to go.”

  Great. She totally believed in ghosts. Plus, she had no idea how much farther away Damon Daye’s house was, and eventually it was going to get dark out here. So far, she’d seen no signs, only endless evergreens, some boulders, a mound of unidentifiable roadkill that had made her morning si
ckness come back with a vengeance, and miles of pothole-riddled asphalt. And haunted woods.

  Up ahead, a strange sound echoed off the trees, and the truck slowed and pulled over to the side. She perked up, readjusted the strap of her duffel bag, and marched double time toward it, but alas, no, the truck had a flat. The driver wasn’t stopping to give her a ride.

  That’s what he got for ignoring her sad attempt at hitchhiking. “Karma’s a bitch,” she muttered as she slowed her speed back down to meandering waddle.

  When the driver emerged from his ride, her eyes nearly popped out of her face. The man was probably in his late twenties with a long, lithe stride as he jogged around the back of his truck. The evening sunlight threw gold highlights into his blond, shoulder-length hair. He ducked just before she got to take in his face, but a white T-shirt clung tightly to his muscular shoulders and hole-riddled jeans hung just right around his tapered waist.

  Riley pursed her lips against the hormone surge that flushed heat through her body. A vision of her splaying her hands against his truck and bending over as he pummeled her from behind made her gasp and draw up short. She didn’t even know the man, nor had she seen his face or talked to him at all. He wasn’t even nice if his ignoring her completely was anything to go by, and his truck was a rust bucket. Not like she could judge since she didn’t own a car, but it screamed he wasn’t relationship material if he couldn’t even take care of his truck, and oh my gosh, why am I thinking about a relationship with this stranger?

  The word “fuck” echoed across the clearing as he kicked his tire and ran his hands through his hair, then flung them forward. He cast her a narrow-eyed glance as she approached, then froze fast, as if he’d been electrocuted. “You aren’t a dude.”

  She gave him a humorless smile. “Nope. Definitely not a dude.”

  “You’re not a Boarlander?”

  His face was smeared with something. Dirt? Grease? “What’s a Boarlander?”