Grizzly Love (8 page)

No wonder Travis had a file an inch thick. The bear had a death wish.

“Any idea yet on if this new snake is somehow related to the one Brody killed?” Boris asked.

Master Sergeant Carson shook his head. “We never even found out the name of the one that took you prisoner and then died during your escape.”

“They have to be related somehow,” Gene interjected. “Because it wasn’t a dead man who came to visit me for months after you all managed to flee.”

At least Gene managed to say it without growling—or attempting to hit someone. A step in the right direction. When Gene, known by his military brothers as The Ghost, had first come back to Kodiak Point, it had been with the intent to kill all his former army buddies. It seemed someone had anger issues about the fact that, while they’d all escaped, he spent a while longer as the guest of a psychopath.

“The two are most probably related somehow, which might help explain the vendetta against the clan.”

“Who cares what their relation is?” Boris grumbled. “I want to stomp his ass and go home to my wife. Preferably with the skin. She and her mother have plans for new purses.”

Used to Boris’ dry and macabre humor—and yes, she preferred to think of it as humor rather than truth—Jess didn’t react. Much.

Having been raised in a small clan on the West Coast, she’d initially found the wilder nature of her Alaskan brethren a bit much to take in. In the untamed north, recipes still abounded where the main ingredient wasn’t always basic cattle, pork, chicken, or fish. Welcome to Kodiak Point, where traitors sometimes ended up the main course in a feast.

“Since we know the bastard’s here, we should arm ourselves and prepare to head out. We wouldn’t want him to get a chance to regroup. Let’s hit him while he’s still recovering and on the run.” Brody bounced on the balls of his feet, eyes glinting with feral eagerness, his wolf excited to get going.

He wasn’t alone. All the guys were chafing to go after their target. Exhausted, Jess could only envy their enthusiasm. While she’d finagled a spot on this trip, she wasn’t a battle-trained soldier. Given a choice, she would have taken a good night’s sleep so they could start out rested in the morning.

Thankfully, the men’s old sergeant took her side without even knowing it. However, his reasons had less to do with beauty rest and more with danger level.

“I’d recommend against heading out so late. Too dangerous.”

“Dangerous how?” Brody asked.

“The rebels have been nagging at our troops real bad lately. It’s like they know when we’re coming. They’re hard enough to spot in the daytime, but at night, you can’t see fuck all. Not to mention, in the dark, you won’t see any traps they might have laid. You gotta watch for landmines along with ambushes.”

“Dark or light, I’d say the danger level is high.”

“True, but then there’s the fact you’ve already been attacked once today, you just arrived, and judging by the circles under some eyes, you’re jet-lagged. Which means you’re not functioning at 100 percent, which out here can get you killed. You’re better off getting a good night’s sleep and waiting for daylight. We’ll head out first thing in the morning.”

Jess could have hugged the old guy. A night’s rest sounded heavenly.

A bell clanged before Brody could argue any further with the master sergeant.

Travis grinned as he announced—with a hopeful glint in his eye—“Dinner!”

Actually the bell was a test of the perimeter security system, which led to a crestfallen bear who grumbled he had a rumble in his tummy. Boris told him he could eat a knuckle sandwich if he didn’t stop his bellyaching.

Travis asked if it came with mustard.

Gene threatened to eat them both if they got in a fight, while Brody conversed with Layla in a corner.

Welcome to camp life where sticking four alpha-tendency males in one tent meant too much testosterone and the possibility of fists flying.

To the sound of soft bickering, Jess drifted off to sleep, but it wasn’t a restful one. In her dreams—more like nightmares—she soared as a hawk, free in a bright blue sky until a dark swarm converged. A mob of ravens, each bearing a cold blue gaze, chased her, nipping at her tail feathers with their beaks as she coasted the aerial drafts, tiring her until she plummeted.

Down. Down. Down.

In a lethal spiral, she flailed, trying to control her deadly descent. The ground rushing to meet her.

Thump
.

She hit the hard floor, only narrowly missing her nose because her hands broke her fall. Instantly, she woke, groaned because of the rudeness of it, and hoped no one noticed her ignoble dismount from her bed. A hope dashed.

Head turned sideways, she opened her eyes and bit her tongue, lest she squeal at the upside down visage dangling from the bed alongside hers.

Brown eyes peered at her, the corners crinkled with mirth. “You know,” Travis said conversationally, “most people prefer to get out of bed on their feet, not their face.”

“Why bother standing when I thought I’d do some pushups first to get the blood flowing?” she quipped, pumping a few. When embarrassed, nonchalance always provided a great fallback.

A tsking sound escaped his pursed—and very nice, as well as too close—lips. “Liar,” he chided. “Although it is a great cover. I’ll have to remember it the next time my handsome mug hits the floor.”

If she were one of the guys, she might have refuted his handsome claim, but she’d already fibbed once. “Maybe if you behaved and didn’t do things to end up on the floor, you wouldn’t need a cover,” she replied, dropping her pretense at pushups so she could perch on her cot.

“Behave? But that would ruin all my fun.” He looked and sounded appalled, which made her laugh.

Actually, a lot of things Travis did made her laugh, crack a smile, and feel good. While many saw him as a clown—and in some ways he was—his wasn’t a malicious kind of humor, but a playful one. Travis never saw the negative. He never let adversity bring him down. He also never passed up a chance to tease, hence his numerous visits to the infirmary. Yet he never resented the damage he took. Never complained. And he was never truly grievously hurt.

Much as the guys liked to threaten him and, in some cases, hit him, they also cared for the grizzly. One might compare him and his antics to the pesky little brother that drove them insane but that they’d defend with their last breath.

As for her, he was the ray of sunshine in what was a bleak life. A teddy bear who just had to exist to make her smile. A man who made her want—

Ack. What was with her? Smiling at Travis, admiring his smile, getting all warm and fuzzy inside.
Snap out of it.
She wasn’t here on a holiday, nor had she come to flirt. Theirs was a serious mission, hers doubly so, as she tried to find a resolution to her future.

Kill the raven, solve the problem.

Such a simple solution from her hawk, but Jess liked to think she was a tad more civilized. But she couldn’t deny the temptation was there to let her avian side take care of matters. Or to drug Frederick senseless, drag his ass out to the desert, stake him in the sun, dribble honey on him, and let nature take its course.

See, no need for her to perpetrate violence when she could count on the wild to do its thing.

But enough plotting. Gritty-eyed or not, time to see if anything interesting occurred while she slumbered. Or not.

It seemed she wasn’t the only one who’d taken advantage of the down time they had before dinner. All around, she noted signs of the beds being used, the sheets rumpled. A few cots over, Boris snored loudly on his. It didn’t go unnoticed.

A certain grizzly, with a naughty look in his eyes, held a finger to his lips as he snuck over to Boris’ side. Surely she wouldn’t sit still and let him intentionally start trouble?

Or maybe she would.

To stem any giggles, she slapped a hand over her mouth when Travis tiptoed over to the moose, shaking a can of shaving cream. Before he could spray, Boris’ hand shot out and gripped his wrist.

“Do it and die.”

“Boris, old buddy, old pal, surely you aren’t accusing me of doing something nefarious like say filling your palm full of shaving cream and then tickling your nose so you slapped it in your face?” Deadly long lashes fluttered in mock innocence.

With a growl—which was truly impressive given Boris was a moose—the big man vaulted off his cot, but Travis was already fleeing from the tent laughing. “Catch me if you can, old man.”

“I am not old,” Boris bellowed, taking off after him.

With a sigh, a smile, and a shake of her head, Jess watched them go.

Boys!

Travis knew how to push Boris’ buttons, and Boris just couldn’t help reacting. It was as predictable as the sun rising every day.

“Sometimes that boy is smarter than I give him credit for,” Gene remarked.

She jumped, startled at how silently he’d come alongside her. The man truly had a gift for sneaking. But it was his words that had her asking, “How is taunting Boris smart?” Last she’d heard from the medical society, inviting concussions was anything but.

“It’s smart because anyone watching will see exactly what you did, a rascally cub antagonizing his elder.”

“I still don’t get it.”

“What do you think they’re doing right now?” Gene asked.

Her brow knit in a frown. “Doing? I’d imagine racing around camp until Boris corners Travis and knocks him silly.”

A hint of a smile teased his lips. “You got that partially right. Yes, they are whipping around, Travis antagonizing Boris. Probably making some stupid moose joke—like telling Boris to watch out for moose-quitos.”

“Or asking him to hold his radio so he can get better reception from his big antlers.”

“Exactly. Two outsiders screwing around. No biggie. No threat. No one pays them much of a second glance unless it’s to laugh. But meanwhile, Travis and Boris are getting an eyeful.”

“An eyeful of what?”

“Let me ask you. If you were to leave this tent and try to wander off, unescorted, peeking around, what do you think would happen?”

Her still muddy mind began to grasp where he was going with this. “More than likely, I’d get escorted back here or to a common area.”

“Bingo.”

“But Travis and Boris aren’t sauntering, they playing a game of chase. Running all over and more than likely through places considered off-limits to strangers. A great plan, except how do you know that’s what they’re actually doing? I mean, I know Travis. He lives to drive Boris nuts. What makes you think this is part of some subtle plot to spy?”

“Like I said, behind the boy’s playful nature hides a smart mind. He might not choose to show it to the world, but he grasps things. Perhaps if you weren’t so busy trying to ignore what’s in front of you, you’d see the truth.”

With those enigmatic words, Gene slipped away, off to scare some other poor, unsuspecting soul while leaving her with food for thought.

She’d never stopped to consider Travis’ actions as anything more than mischief and a tendency to blurt things he shouldn’t. She vowed to pay closer attention and see if Gene’s observation held any weight because she had her doubts.

Doubts she needed to hold on to because a playful Travis always getting into trouble was easier to keep at bay than an intelligent one who did things to attain a certain result.
Although I don’t know what’s smart about getting stung by a hundred bees just because he craved some fresh honey.

Speaking of food, dinnertime arrived. While there was no bell to announce it, as they resided in a military installation, meals were at specified times.

Joining Layla and Brody, Jess went with them to a tent that loomed larger than the rest. As they stepped through the flap, Jess took a peek around.

The large canteen held many tables and benches, mostly empty. Given the number of barrack tents she’d seen, Jess couldn’t help but frown. “Where is everyone?”

Had they arrived amidst a big operation?

Brody, who apparently spent some of the time between their arrival and dinner elsewhere, had the answer. “Missing or dead. According to Sarge, their numbers started getting hammered hard in the last year and a half. At first they thought troops might be deserting as they vanished in single digits. The weak ones as Sarge called them.”

“AWOL is the common consensus.” Boris, who’d arrived before them, didn’t peer back at them as he replied. He paid more attention to the ladled mashed potatoes and brown, gravy-soaked lump that passed as meat. The peas on the other hand were a bright green—too bright. But at least the pudding appeared normal.

“That’s one possibility,” Brody conceded. “No one’s sure what happened to those fellows, only that they just never came back.”

“You said at first. What about now?” Jess asked.

“The siphon of troops stopped at one point, and that’s when the skirmishes began. As part of keeping the area clear of rebel forces, the camp began sending out groups of soldiers, half of them shifter, the other half human, to sweep the hills and nearby villages. Providing aid where needed, a visible presence to deter the enemy from encroaching and trying to terrorize folk into joining their cause. It used to be a pretty simple gig with only the occasional resistance. But all that changed about six months ago. Now Sarge says they can’t leave the base at all without some kind of incident. Sometimes it’s benign, like a broken-down engine or a flat tire. Other times it’s outright war where the soldiers get gunned down or hit a hidden landmine.”

“Each time?”

Brody nodded.

“And yet, knowing this, they sent only three soldiers to meet us.”

“Bingo.” Gene drawled. “And I might add, of those three soldiers, two were wet behind the ear while the other didn’t have any weapons to arm us.”

“Something’s not right,” Boris grunted in between mouthfuls.

“Why invite us in if they’re planning to sabotage? They could have just as easily refused us and let us stumble around getting equipped on our own,” Jess said, playing devil’s advocate.

“According to Sarge, they hoped by keeping things low key, we’d attract no notice.”

“I’d say that failed,” was Boris’ dry retort.