Love at First Mate - Badlands Territory

On the back porch, the six are caught in a tense standoff, all of them intent on attack, but knowing one more wound and it could mean their lives.

I think back to when I left, shaking and crying, driving away from my mother’s house in my VW van. How scared I was. Of everything. Of nothing.

And now? Standing here, watching wild animals and men with guns try to kill each other over me?

I’m not scared anymore.

I take aim. Lean in, and squeeze.

Before I pull the trigger, I yell… ”I told you, this isn’t Bowling Green!”

Bam. Bam.

My shots ring out as ten eyes dart my way, but Orwell’s go dark as he crumples to the ground.

For a second, the world is silent, then it’s Ragnar that roars, tearing forward on all fours before D can get off another shot, grabbing him by the leg and bashing him into the ground. I hear the snapping of bones and then the sound of an approaching siren, just as Ragnar’s grizzly drops the body onto the lawn and turns to rear up on his hind legs, looking at me as I drop the gun and start to run.

I run until I feel the blood soaked fur against my face.

Praying everything I’ve heard about shifter healing is true.

Because I can’t lose my mate. He’s my everything.Chapter 12RagnarWayne, English, Howard and I all phase back to human form after it’s all over, panting and on all fours, trying to re-group. Wynter ran back inside the house, and I tried to tell her to stay, but through the pain, along with the exhaustion and my body’s effort to heal itself, all I could do was growl.

There’s red and blue lights flashing for a minute, along with a siren, but to my surprise they stop and the sheriff is there, looking around at the carnage. There’s the two humans out here, sure, but also each of us shifters have gunshot wounds.

“God.” I hear her voice a few minutes later as Wynter runs towards us, carrying sheets and blankets, handing them off to each of us, checking our wounds as she goes before finally kneeling down next to me as I watch the sheriff head straight for Howard.

He’s the oldest of the group, and in shifter terms that makes him the most respected. The sheriff grabs his radio, making a call as I watch Wayne and English wrap their butt-naked selves in blankets and kneel down next to Howard.

“Fuck,” I manage, the searing pain from the gunshot wounds making me dizzy, but all I can think about it how in the chaos, my paw connected with her… “I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so fucking sorry…”

I pull her to me. Even in my exhaustion her well-being is all I care about. I look at her shirt, at the claw-torn fabric, and all the blood, and I want to die. I’ve hurt her.

It’s all happening again. I can’t keep her safe. Not from me.

It’s history, bad history repeating itself…the world starts to spin and go dark, but Wynter’s hands are on my face and her eyes are pleading.

“I’m okay. I should have known better than to throw myself in front of a grizzly bear intent on killing his mate’s kidnappers. Seems I have a few safety protocols to learn when it comes to shifters.” Her smile brings me back, but I’m not sure I can ever forgive myself.

“Hey.” It’s the sheriff, looking down at all of us, then over at the bodies. “We’ve got a bit of a mess here, boys. And ma’am,” he adds, nodding respectfully at Wynter.

“I’ll take responsibility. They kidnapped Wynter, it was all self-defense but I know someone has to go in for it. The story will be my grizzly did the damage.”

“And your grizzly was able to pull the trigger on the 9mm, huh, Rag?”

“Yes. That was me.” I sit up and the sheriff shakes his head.

“Here’s how things are going to go. I’m going to get back in my car there.” He nods toward his cruiser. “I’m going to go home, drink some shitty coffee and watch Dancing with the Stars. I’ve got a few episodes recorded, so I doubt I’m going to get out here again tonight, if you catch my meaning. Tomorrow morning, you all better be acting like this was all just a bad dream. I’ll take care of Robert, he’s the one that called me. He’s a good guy, he knows this town. Clean this mess up. All of it.” He nods toward the rusty Ford Bronco with the Kentucky license plate in front of his cruiser in the driveway, then turns on his heel, gets into his car and drives away, leaving us all sitting there staring at each other.

Howard is on his feet, a blanket around his waist. “Your grandmother is going to kill me.” He shakes his head but the single gunshot wound he took to his leg is already nearly healed.