Grizzly Love (9 page)

“How many people knew we were even coming?” Jess asked.

“Not many.”

Brow furrowed, Jess tried to make sense of it and could only come up with one conclusion. “Someone in the camp is feeding the rebels information.”

At her reply, Gene nodded. “Bingo again. But the question is, who? Sarge says they’ve tightened up security. The soldiers don’t know where they’re going or when until the moment they leave camp. Communication is only done under supervision. They’ve made it so that no unauthorized personnel can exit or enter. Yet the enemy always seems to know their every move, and more disturbing, lately there’s been incidents in camp.”

“What kind of incidents?” Travis asked, of course folding his lanky frame into the seat across from her. A whole table to sit at and he would choose the one that forced him into her line of sight.

But at least he’s willing to sit with me.

A certain cowardly raven hadn’t yet dared a reappearance since their arrival in camp, which, to her surprise, didn’t truly bother her. After his last nasty words, and demeanor, she found herself at a loss as to what to do about him.

The boy she married just no longer existed. On the tarmac she’d faced a stranger. A hateful one at that.

To think one of my plans when I came over here was to drag him back and use him to get pregnant.

The very idea now made her ill. Did she really want a child with Freddie?

No.

She didn’t want him in her life. She never wanted to set eyes on him again. Ever. At this point, she doubted if she’d care if he fell victim to one of the rebel ambushes. In a sense, his demise would provide relief, an awful thing to think—wish for—and yet, she felt no remorse.

Given her emotions in his regard, she really had to wonder about the whole mating thing for life. Could it be that something she’d taken as an unbreakable truth all her life was more myth than reality?

What would happen if she divorced Freddie and chose to move on?

History said she couldn’t, but nothing ever explained what would happen if she did. Gene had raised some valid points when he asked if breaking the bond would kill her. Having never known someone who had, she really couldn’t reply. As a doctor, she heard her fair share of old wives tales—chicken soup for the ill, feed a fever, starve a cold—was she a victim of an urban legend or, in this case, a shifter one?

My attraction to Travis would certainly make more sense then.
Because logic dictated if she were truly mated, then she should never crave another. It certainly was something to ponder. A divorce would prove a much simpler thing to accomplish than praying for Freddy to drop dead—or to constantly peer over her shoulder wondering if her husband plotted her demise. Something she wouldn’t put past him since their ugly confrontation.

Her train of thought derailed as Master Sergeant Carson sat down with them, his sudden arrival quelling the hushed conversations flowing around her.

“Hope I’m not interrupting,” the older man said.

As if he cared. Jess got the impression he said it more out of expected courtesy.

“Nope, sir. Not at all,” Travis replied with a genial smile.

“Sir? Don’t call me, sir, cub. I’m Master Sergeant. You will address me as such. Is that understood?” he barked.

The rebuke took her aback.

Properly chastised, Travis straightened in his seat. “Yes, Master Sergeant.”

“That’s better. You’re on a military base now, and as such, we got certain rules to follow, even with guests. Properly addressing those by their rank is one of them. But I guess I’ll have to cut you a little slack given you’re not a true recruit. Although, from what I hear, my boys brought you along in the hopes of toughening you up.”

Used to Travis’ usual cockiness, she expected a rebuttal. If there was one thing Travis excelled at, it was being tough. The bear knew how to take a licking and keep on smiling.

It surprised her to hear him say, “I’d like that, Master Sergeant. I’ve always looked up to the guys who served under you, and if you can teach me a fraction of what they know, I’d appreciate it.”

Travis showing respect? She’d have to check him later for signs of concussion or brain damage. Perhaps Boris had played a little too rough when he caught him during their mini spy run earlier.

“Unfortunately, we won’t have much time, what with us leaving in the morning and all, but I’m sure we could arrange a little something after dinner.”

Boris nudged Gene. “This should be good,” he muttered.

“Wager on it?” Gene let a smile ghost his lips.

“We don’t even know who his opponent is going to be.”

“What makes you think there’s even going to be a fight?” Jess asked, a question apparently the whole table heard, or so she assumed given all the guys burst out laughing.

“Of course he’s going to test Travis’ skills with a fight. How else can he judge where he needs help in his training?”

“A hundred bucks says the boy holds his own,” Gene announced.

Boris snorted. “Not against an experienced fellow, which is what I’ll bet the master sergeant will pit him against.”

“He’s got a hard skull. I think he can handle a few knocks to it.”

“Dude, what makes you think I’ll get hit in the head?” Travis interjected, his tone offended, but his smile amused and his eyes alight with excitement.

Jess wanted to bang her head off the table.

Boys. Couldn’t they do anything that didn’t involve violence?

Apparently not, because no sooner were the trays dumped and placed in a bin for the kitchen staff to wash than they were heading outside to a training area conveniently placed close to the medical tents, which were distinguished by their large red crosses.

It didn’t take long before a few handfuls of men gathered to line the edge of the dirt-packed area. Even someone without medical knowledge would have noted the brownish stains—dried blood—soaked into the ground, and her nose twitched at the acrid stench comprised of the sweat of hundreds of men who’d bled and perspired. Only someone truly naïve with all these clues would not expect something truly violent and savage.

What did surprise her was Freddie showed up. Standing across from her and the group from Kodiak Point, he slouched against a post, cigarette once again hanging from his mouth, his gaze dark and brooding.

A shiver went through her. Her hawk ruffled its mental feathers. It wouldn’t allow them to be intimidated.

Freddie didn’t like her being there? Too bad. She’d spent too long allowing him to play his hurtful game. Time to step into his comfort zone and rattle things around.

The master sergeant stepped into the middle of the makeshift arena, and at his appearance, the low buzz of conversation died off. “So, boys, as you might have noticed, we got some visitors. Most of them, some soldiers I trained. A tough bunch if I say so myself.”

“Not tougher than you, Master Sergeant,” one ass-kisser called from the crowd. A rumble of laughter accompanied his statement.

“Not much is tougher than my leathery skin, but if any folk come close, then it’s these guys. But they’re not the reason we’re here. They brought along a new fellow, a cub, one could say, among bears.”

A subtle verbal comparison that the humans wouldn’t grasp, but the shifters in the watching crowd did.

“What do you say we see what this boy’s got?”

As expected, the men jeered and grunted in approval.

“Are you sure you want to play?” the old rhino asked Travis.

“Heck yeah, Master Sergeant. I’m always looking for ways to improve, and besides, I think it’s time my teachers”—he shot a quick glance at Brody and the rest—“saw their lessons at play.”

With his trademark grin, Travis stripped off his shirt and brazenly tossed it at her feet. As if she’d catch it. It smacked too much of a token given to someone of the opposite sex before a joust. Except in this case, instead of a maiden bestowing her favor, it was Travis more or less tossing down a gauntlet.

Maybe Freddie wouldn’t notice. Hard to tell, as his expression never wavered.

“I like your enthusiasm, boy. So who’s going to be first to show him what he’s missing not enlisting in the military?” Several hands shot in the air. The master sergeant pointed at one. “Private Corbin, get your lazy butt in here and start things off, would you?”

The first round pitted a human against Travis. Not even close to a fair matchup. Travis didn’t even break a sweat knocking the poor guy out.

The groggy soldier no sooner hit the ground than he was carried out of the makeshift ring.

Next to step into the makeshift ring, a feline shifter. Light on his feet, he lasted a bit longer and proved quick with the punches. Nothing Travis couldn’t handle. A few hits landed, not enough to rock the grizzly. Travis, with his longer reach and solid strength behind each throw, soon had the Sergeant calling an end to that match.

As Travis gulped down some water—the muscles in his throat working, not that she paid much mind, her eyes inadvertently strayed to his glistening torso despite how many times she chastised herself—the rhino stepped back out into the arena.

“I see you’ve got some skill, boy. Let’s see how you do against someone with real talent. Master Corporal Weller, would you show the boy what you’ve learned.”

With a malicious leer, Freddie cracked his knuckles and stepped on the field. “Of course, Master Sergeant.”

Jess could have groaned. Especially when Gene, who up until now had backed Travis, muttered in a low voice, “Fuck. There goes my hundred bucks.”

Bouncing on the balls of his feet, just warming up, Travis ignored the mutters as Frederick took a position in the fighting ring.

A part of Travis understood he’d been set up, the previous matches just a precursor for the main event. After all, what were the chances the rhino would pair him with the one person he most longed to fight?

I get to hit him. I get to hit him.

Yes, the idea filled him with a childish glee. He’d wanted to smack that smug prick since he’d laid eyes on him.

Jealousy issues? Damn straight. It didn’t matter that Travis was the interloper looking to steal Jess from her mate. Frederick was a dick, one who didn’t deserve a wonderful woman like Jess.

I’m going to take you down a peg or two, raven.

At least he wanted to. Thankfully not just his bear and jealous instinct were making his decisions. A part of him realized this upcoming fight posed a dilemma.

For example, if Travis took out his bottled frustration on the raven—and it should be noted he had several years’ worth—he could cause some serious damage. Cocky? Damn straight.

He noted many in the crowd, even his own crew, harbored some doubt in their eyes. Wouldn’t he love to show them what he was truly capable of? What he’d hidden over the years?

To deny he’d get satisfaction out of pummeling Frederick’s face wasn’t in him, nor did he worry about being punished if he did. The whole purpose of this exercise, which he’d realized early on, was to put him in his place. To make him feel inadequate.

Obviously they didn’t know him well. As if that would work. Travis never allowed anyone to bring him down. He’d long ago made himself a promise to only ever show a positive face.
Never let them see you cry.
Crying was a weakness. As was whining. And, in this case, losing.

However enjoyable, beating the hell out of Doc’s hubby could cause issues, not with the guys egging him on, but with Jess.

How would she take it if he took Frederick down? Would she thank him, maybe with a kiss when they got out of sight? Hell, he’d even settle for a wink.

Or would she get mad at him and smother Freddie in attention as she tended his wounds—and if Travis had a say, Frederick would leave this arena hurting.

He wished he knew what to do.
What’s the right choice?

The answer hadn’t yet come to him, and the time to wonder about it passed as the raven, now shirtless and with cold intent in his eyes, came at him, fists swinging.

Easy enough to block, but Travis didn’t go on the offensive, not yet. First he wanted to gauge the mood of the crowd. He sent out a little jab, right under Frederick’s arm and connected with the left side of his rib cage. The birdman let out a grunt.

Hit.

Just not a good enough one apparently.

His own side mocked him.

“I taught you better than that,” Boris hollered.

“Get him in a headlock, Master Corporal, and give him a noogie,” Brody countered with a grin. The man was such a joker.

“Stop crushing on the bird and give him something harder than love taps,” grumbled Gene.

He seemed to have approval from them to beat on Frederick. Awesome.

As for the watching soldiers, they didn’t react much when Frederick landed blows, but when Travis managed to sneak a few past the raven’s guard, they smirked, and a few openly jeered.

“About time someone bruised pretty boy’s face.”

“Take him down a notch.”

It seemed dear old Freddie wasn’t especially well loved by his peers. However the more important question was, did Jess still care for him?

Given her tight lips, crossed arms, and silence from the sidelines, he couldn’t tell.

A bull rush from the raven had Travis opening his arms to clasp the other man to him.

As they hugged to Boris yelling, “Get a room,” Freddie whispered, “I know you’ve been eyeballing my wife.”

Travis, not known for his subtlety, said, “I’d bang her if she’d let me.”

You’d think a man finding out his wife wasn’t cheating would have shown some appreciation, and Freddie did of a sorts. With a snarl—which surprised Travis, who expected a caw, à la Poe—looped a leg around Travis’ and took him to the ground.

“Let’s see how much she likes you once I scramble your pretty face.”

“Are you flirting with me?” Travis replied a moment before they hit the ground with a thump.

“You annoying little prick. I’m going to fucking maim you.”

“First off, let’s get one thing straight. There ain’t nothing little about my junk. And two, we’ll see who’s doing the maiming. I’m in the mood for some turkey.”

Inciting, intentional, and totally fun. Blood coursed through his veins, energizing him as he rolled around in a scuffle of limbs, fists, and more whispered taunts.