Run Fur Love (BBW Tiger Shifter Romance) Read online

  “The gap in the trees. It’s a trail, circles back to the highway.”

  She sat easy on the seat, even though she had a death grip on his waist. The bike shuddered and jumped, but he had control of it, and she moved with him and the bike, as he left the field, and hit the hard pack of the trail. There was a curve ahead, but before she could even warn him they were there, him taking it, without letting up on the throttle, her shifting her weight, knowing exactly how that curve felt when she took it, although at a much slower speed, on her bike, under her control.

  They climbed, up and over and around the hill that was really a small mountain that stood at the back of her land. Her eyes were watering, and she wanted to blame the speed and the dust, and everything else, for those tears. But it was the loss, the damned loss of a building that was older than she was. A building that had belonged to her brother. At least the bastard couldn’t take the land away from her. At least she still had that. And unless he was riding up the trail behind them, she still had her life.

  When they reached the stop, she tapped Jericho on the shoulder, getting his attention. He slowed, turned out on the wide flat top of the hill, but he didn’t shut off the bike. She pushed up on the footrests, looking back down, half expecting to see Morgan right behind them, climbing the same trail on his bike, holding a gun in one hand. But thankfully, the trail was empty.

  The bar was a pile of smoking timbers, nothing more. Nothing to show how much that building really held, possessions, money, memories. Her entire life. To her surprise, fire trucks had circled it already, like it was going to try to make a break and escape, but it was too far gone. She could see the thin streams of water sparkling in the sun, white steam rising from where they landed. But it was gone, really and truly gone. She sank back onto the seat.

  “Someone must have seen the smoke, and called them.” Jericho’s voice was steady, the opposite of how she felt. Her insides were shaking, and her thoughts were a jangled mess.

  “And scared Morgan off.”

  “Probably. Not a good idea to be found at the scene of an arson fire, shooting a gun at people’s backs.”

  “Right.” None of this made any sense. Not the fire, or being shot at by Morgan Ramsey. Especially what Jericho had said. Through panic, and fear, she had questions. And she wanted answers now.

  “How the hell do you know who Morgan Ramsey is? You’re not from this area, remember? At least that’s what you told me.”

  “Which way is the highway?”

  “There. You can see it from here.” She pointed, but he was already looking that way, at the thin ribbon of gray that ran like salvation to the mountains in the distance.

  He nodded, and the bike started to move, and she was still waiting for his answer. Just before they dipped back into the shade of the trees, when they were still going slow, he leaned back, and she leaned forward to hear what he had to say.

  “Morgan Ramsey hired me.”

  “For what?” She shouted, over the roar of the engine.

  “To kill you.”

  And then they were going fast in the shade, downhill, and everything she thought about him, came apart at the seams. She wanted to scream into the wind, throw herself from his bike, and put as much distance between them, as possible.

  You should have known better than to trust a drifter, she thought, angrily. Son of a bitch.

  Chapter Five

  She wanted off this ride, off this bike, and out of this nightmare. But they were going too fast, and she hung on for her life. Hung on to the man who’d just told her he’d been hired to kill her.

  The trail dipped under pines, the sound of tires on fallen needles, like a hand brushing over silk. Then they were back in the sun, bumping over rocks and dirt, grit filling her eyes and mouth, so much dust it might not have rained at all. There was nothing she could do to him that wouldn’t kill her too, so she just hung on, and waited.

  And thought. Morgan Ramsey had wanted her dead. He’d hired Jericho—images of her and Jericho in bed, of what they did together filled her mind—and she’d slept next to him, naked and vulnerable. But he hadn’t killed her. Hadn’t slit her throat in the dark, or strangled her, as she slept. He’d fucked her like crazy, and then gone to sleep. What the hell kind of hired killer did that?

  Then they burst out of the woods, and through a small field, and then a little two-lane highway was there, yellow line faded to a ghostly stripe. Jericho slowed just enough to get the bike down into the ditch, and back up on the asphalt.

  “Why?” She had to ask, as soon as there was quiet enough for him to hear. She didn’t want to talk to him really, but she wanted to know more. “Why did he send you to kill me?”

  “Not now.” He was already moving down the road, shifting gears, the big bike howling beneath them. She risked a glance back, and in the middle distance, she saw the rising pillar of black smoke that was her home, had been her home. The wind tugged and pulled at the smoke, sending it to the four corners. Sending life, as she knew it, away to the sky.

  But the road behind them was clear, no glints of sun reflecting off chrome, no crazy madman chasing after them with a gun. Maybe she’d come out of this alive. And then maybe she’d get some answers.

  The narrow road twisted and turned, heading up to the mountains. It was cold with the wind tearing at her thin t-shirt and hair, so she had her head buried against Jericho’s back. And because of that, she didn’t see what happened, didn’t know why the bike swerved suddenly, playing fast and loose with the yellow line, and then leaned to the side, at a dangerous angle.

  Jericho yelled something, and then laid the bike down, putting it into a slide. She hung on to him, until she couldn’t, and then the world was spinning, sky and blacktop, then sky and grass, the bike sliding away from her, metal sending up sparks. Then she was in the ditch, and her right thigh hit a rock, and everything came to an abrupt and painful stop. The world went gray around the edges, and she closed her eyes, wishing everything would just go away.

  Someone yelled her name, and she decided that it must be Jericho, because when she opened her eyes, the other two men standing at the side of the road, were complete strangers to her. She pushed up, rolled to her knees, exquisite pain shooting down her leg. But she fought to stand, most of her weight on her left leg.

  Jericho was standing on the road, jacket already off, in the middle of yanking off his t-shirt. It hit the ground, and she had no choice, but to stare at him. It wasn’t just the way the sun outlined the taut muscles of his stomach, or the memory of her hands on that broad chest. It was the beauty and power of him as he started to shift, as the animal inside him broke through all his control.

  The other two guys were already headed toward letting their animals loose. Clothing tore, pants, and shirts shredded, as bodies twisted and contorted, muscles stretching as bones grew and thickened, rotated in sockets to send upright humans down on all four feet. Fangs and claws replaced teeth and nails, feet and hands grew thick pads. And last, always last, was the tail.

  When she turned back, Jericho was almost there, almost done, almost turned into the animal inside him. She could still see the outline of his head, the close-cropped hair changing into familiar thick fur, but the complex markings of black on burnt sienna against white, were different than her clan. His nose broadened, nostrils flaring into the classic face of a tiger. For what felt like the millionth time, she marveled at the speed in which shifters changed form. It would never grow old, watching them. But right now, she was just happy that he was on her side, and that she wasn’t alone with two wild shifters, out for blood.

  And damn, he was a beautiful tiger, thick with muscles, sleekly striped in black and orange, and long and fierce. He tossed his head and growled, a gesture of pure male dominance. Then he looked into her eyes for one brief eternity, eyes as green as emeralds. The growl that rippled from his throat, was whiskey over roar, and as sensual, as the voice he’d used to say all those things to her last night. And then he was runni
ng.

  She spun around, lost her balance, and fell on her ass. And from this angle, the tigers loomed huge and vicious, the two already circling Jericho, lips pulled back, showing fangs. Demonstrating their power.

  But Jericho faced them, stalked toward them. She knew shifters had incredible egos, that each thought they could take on the world by themselves. But in Jericho, that power radiated from him in waves, and for a moment the other two tigers hesitated. She saw it, and so did Jericho.

  He lunged, going for the smaller of the two tigers, hitting it low, just behind the front legs. The tiger turned, trying to bite, teeth snapping at Jericho’s fur. Harley saw orange and black tufts, ripped from the beast, landing on the pavement. But Jericho either had a mouthful of the tiger, or he’d hit it hard enough to break a bone, because the tiger rolled over on the ground.

  The other tiger jumped, but Jericho saw it. With a savage twist of his head, that made the tiger on the ground give out a terrible cry, he leaped away from the attacker. But the tiger made contact, hitting Jericho in the ribs, knocking him to his back on the ground.

  Harley knew how dangerous it was for a big cat to be belly up to an attacker. The vulnerable belly, exposed, was there for the taking, for the attacker to rip open. She’d seen it, once, and she didn’t want to see Jericho torn open on the side of the road.

  As the attacker landed, Jericho brought his back legs up, kicking the other tiger in the chest. All he could do was tear and rip fur and skin, and even though the gashes were deep, he wasn’t doing any damage.

  One of the tigers had struggled to its feet, and even though she could tell that a leg was seriously injured, it was still a very dangerous animal. It snarled in pain and frustration, blood soaking through its fur, but it didn’t hesitate to move toward Jericho, who was still on the ground.

  Jericho roared, kicking furiously at the belly of the cat above him, clearly aware of the second tiger moving toward them. With one powerful kick, he rocked the tiger above him, tipping off balance just enough to send it sprawling to the pavement. The tiger rolled, tail lashing the air, and righted itself quickly.

  Now Jericho was on his feet, trying to face both tigers. But he could only keep the injured tiger in front of him. The other circled, snarling, teeth dripping blood. Panic rushed through Harley, making her stomach ache, and her heart beat furiously in her chest. She hadn’t seen where Jericho was injured, and now she couldn’t see any marks, which meant only one thing; he’d been bitten somewhere vulnerable.

  The limping tiger made a move to attack, but Jericho shied away. Jericho turned, almost putting his back to the tiger. For a horrible moment, she knew he must be terribly injured, if he was afraid to take on even an injured animal.

  But then she saw what he was planning, and she realized she’d make a horrible shifter. Jericho knew he could take down the injured tiger, that even if it did lunge, it lacked power. But the other tiger, the one who had bitten Jericho, had tasted blood. And once a shifter had tasted the blood of its enemy, there was no holding it back.

  With an angry roar, Jericho charged at the uninjured tiger. The animal wasn’t surprised, saw everything clearly, but still, Jericho came down across the animal’s back, just below the shoulders. Harley guessed that Jericho outweighed the other tiger by at least a hundred pounds. Adding that to the force of the leap, and the other tiger went down easily, flat on the pavement.

  Jericho shifted slightly, and bit down on the big cat, just behind its head. There was a sickening crunch, and the big cat arched its head, a sound that was almost human coming from its mouth.

  The wounded tiger tried to jump, but its injured leg gave way, and it landed short of being able to do any damage. It fell beside the big tiger, now held firmly in Jericho’s killing grip. With a final shake of his head, Jericho silenced the big cat.

  The other tiger struggled to its feet and turned, slinking away into the long grass at the side of the road. Harley pushed to her feet, watching the animal disappear. It seemed impossible that the shifter would just leave, but maybe it was only her guys who would fight to the death for their cause. Or maybe this wasn’t their cause, and this cat had no loyalty to Morgan Ramsey at all. Maybe, like Jericho, he was hired to do his job, and decided death wasn’t worth the price.

  But her worry now was Jericho. He was bleeding from somewhere, maybe mortally wounded, but he stood watching the other tiger’s retreating back. Then he turned to her, and for the love of God, she was sure she saw him smile.

  Then, slowly, he began to shift back to human form. It always pained her to watch her own men, but this was an entirely new experience. She’d known this man, this tiger—this animal—felt his body move with hers, had been joined with him only hours before. And now she watched as his legs retracted, the muscles shortening, the ligaments, and tendons pulling shorter, pulling them back into place. She winced as his hips rotated, and he stood up, still covered in patches of striped fur.

  And when he stood, as the final changes, those that seemed no less painful, but almost delicate in their reversal, happened, as teeth retracted and claws pulled back, she saw the gash along his ribcage, deep and bloody. A trail of crimson ran down his side, over his hip, and down his muscular thigh. It was him, Jericho, and the blood ran over his skin, not matting in fur.

  He dropped to the ground, breathing hard, head down. She got up, and limped over to him, but he held up one hand.

  “I’m good. Really. Just...give me a minute.”

  She felt odd standing over him, as if she were watching him too closely, so she squatted down beside him. It hurt her leg, but she felt closer to him like this. After a few minutes, his breathing steadied, and he lifted his head, fixing her with those cool gray eyes.

  “That has to be the most amazing thing in the world, to be able to do that.”

  He smiled, then stood, a flash of pain clouding his eyes. “As far as adrenaline rushes, it’s right up there with making love to a woman you care about.”

  Those words rattled something inside of her, taking her breath away. She watched, as he grabbed the pieces of clothing that weren’t shredded, and used his t-shirt to wipe the blood off his body. Then he threw the rag into the ditch. She was so startled by what he’d said, that she forgot to ask him how he was, how badly he was injured. By the time she got her mind, and mouth, to work together, he was already dressed in a clean t-shirt, pulling on a pair of sweats from his pack.

  * * *

  “Now what? And you still haven’t answered my question.”

  Jericho sat on the rock that had stopped her progress into the ditch, pulling on his boots. For all the fur that had flown, the cuts and gashes the other two shifters had torn in his hide, he looked remarkably calm. He pulled on his boot, and looked up at her.

  “I think our plans have changed.”

  That made her laugh, but it sounded more like the bark of a fox. He’d diffused her anger or irritation, or whatever she felt toward him before, with his words. But she didn’t want to let him do that again. He was still the man who’d been hired to kill her. She had to remember that.

  “Our plans? Or yours.”

  His gray eyes were steady on hers, but she couldn’t read anything behind them. And like the waters in Lincoln’s Quarry, there was no telling how deep the water was, behind that smooth gray surface. Dive in, and you risked hitting rocks hiding just below the surface, scraping your feet or legs, or breaking your neck if you were foolish enough to go in head first. Or you could plunge in over your head, losing yourself in the depths, fighting to get back to the surface, fighting hard, kicking but never making any progress. Either way, you were alone in all that cool gray water, fighting for your life, while your lungs burst from lack of oxygen.

  “I’d like to think we’re in this together now, Harley.” He didn’t smile at her, and in a way, it was better he didn’t try to make this easy. Because no matter what he said, right now there was more between them than his smile could soften.

  “If we’
re in this together, and what you told me is true about why you’re here, then how can I trust you? How do I know you’re not going to kill me, as you say you were hired to do?”

  “You know you can trust me, Harley.” A subtle tension ran through his body, and she couldn’t tell if it was from what she said, or what he hadn’t, or if sitting in the open made him as nervous as she was. But he didn’t get up off the rock.

  “No, I certainly don’t.” She ran a hand down her thigh, fingers finding the spot that had hit the rock. It hurt; she’d have a bruise by now. Nothing was broken. Except maybe her trust.

  “Morgan hired me to kill you.” He looked away, and past her shoulder, down the highway. She resisted the urge to look over her shoulder, less afraid of seeing more of Morgan’s men riding toward them, than she was of taking her eyes off Jericho.

  He looked at her again. “But I couldn’t do it. I’ve told you the truth.”

  She thought it was an interesting way to explain what he’d been hired to do, but she held her tongue. He took a breath, let it out slowly.

  “I do jobs for people that they can’t do for themselves. How they find me, isn’t important. But they do. Morgan found me, said he needed me to...” He stopped, a frown turning down the corner of his mouth. “He wanted revenge. I told him I’d think about it…wasn’t sure I wanted to get into business with this guy, because he just seemed a little unhinged.”

  It wasn’t hard to imagine Morgan saying those words, but it chilled her more than the breeze at her back, knowing he’d wanted her dead.

  “Revenge? I don’t understand.” Morgan Ramsey was a man that Harley never cared for, but they’d come to an uneasy peace over the years, despite squabbles over meaningless things between their two clubs. With Morgan, there was always something to bitch and moan about, some ridiculous reason for him to always be on her back, or in her face.