Bear This Heat (A BBW Shifter Romance) (Last of the Shapeshifters) (16 page)

“No.”

“Trust me.” He had seen a shadow, something bounding, but he was almost certain that was the wolf. They had driven up the main road leading out of town for a couple of miles before he had seen the dark figure, on the horizon.

“Go toward it!”

“Okay. Hold on.” Sasha looked at him briefly before veering the car off road. He immediately felt the drag of the sand, and realized that they might not catch up with the wolf.

“No, wait,” he said. He began to remove his shirt.

“What are you doing?”

“Get back on the road, drive a couple of miles up, and cut him off.”

“What about you?”

Taking off his jeans, he looked over at her. “You’re about to watch me change into a bear. Slow down a bit.”

She did as she turned back toward the main road, and Dylan opened the passenger side door, now completely naked, and leaped out. He started to shift before he landed, tumbled onto the jagged ground a lump of morphing flesh and fur, and then he was up on his paws, smelling the air.

Wolf!

He ran off into the night, hearing the car’s tires tearing up the road behind him. At basically full gallop, he was downwind from the wolf, and he’d be able to gain on the canine once it began to slow.

He paced himself, struggled to breathe. He was already heating up, and saliva dripped from his mouth copiously as his tongue thickened and flattened, as it hung out of his mouth a little to the side.

Still able to see it on the horizon, he realized he was shortening the distance between them, and that the wolf was no longer moving quickly. The heat, even in the cooling night air, must have gotten to him. Moving laterally as well as forward so that he remained downwind, he saw the wolf’s silhouette more clearly now. It was a huge beast, with a snout half a foot long, and a bushy tail so large it looked like a flail. The wolf’s body was obviously nimble, but its sheer size, and the thickness of its torso, was unusually large.

If the animal was so strong, then what would the man be like?

Dylan redoubled his efforts, padded quickly and silently up behind the wolf until he was within leaping distance away. But the wolf’s ears pricked up, and two burning yellow eyes turned to look at him. He jumped then, a great hulking mass of muscle and fur, and landed on the wolf. A piercing yelp shot out into the sky, but with nothing to echo on, it faded as quickly as it had erupted.

Growling, the wolf turned beneath him, managed to get its paws against his chest, and kicked Dylan off. Grunting, Dylan rolled to the side, but was caught by surprise by the wolf’s jaw locking around the back of his neck. He felt intense, searing pain, roared as his anger flared, and he rolled over more, pulling the wolf across his body and crushing it beneath.

The wolf’s snarls were savage and saliva-drenched, and as Dylan continued the roll, getting to his paws, he saw that the wolf was already on its feet, front legs ducked low, snout sniffing the air.

Dylan wanted to take the chance to shift back into a man, to talk to this creature, but he couldn’t. The wolf had responded with such immediate violence that he knew that would be a silly risk to take. He roared at the wolf, a deep, bellowing rumble that seemed to shake the surface layer of sand that lined the desert ground beneath them. He didn’t know how far from the main road they had run, and from what he could see – he was unwilling to take his eyes off the wolf – he couldn’t place where he was relative to Salty Springs.

The wolf, still snarling, pink tongue hanging out of its mouth, began to pace left and right in front of Dylan, as though biding its time. He couldn’t understand it, thought again about shifting back into a man. He was almost ready to when the wolf pounced at him, and dagger-like claws raked across his face before he felt the clench of the wolf’s jaw again, but this time around his own snout.

He bucked backward, lifting up his head, and the wolf with it. He could feel blood streaming out of every hole the wolf’s teeth had made in his flesh, and with the canine still clamped on tightly, he slammed his head downward, head-butting the wolf’s body against the ground.

The wolf, winded and wheezing, scampered backward, but all Dylan saw was red. He charged at the wolf, caught it again with his head, and sent the beast sprawling backward onto its back. He bit down on one of the kicking legs, and felt bone grate against his teeth.

The wolf whined, and Dylan felt against his tongue a tendon snap, the elastic stretch shriveling back up into the wolf’s hip. The beast wouldn’t be running or jumping for a while.

He let go of the leg, spat out the blood in his mouth, a mixture of his own and the wolf’s. He shifted, and held his face that felt like it was on fire. Gingerly, he traced his chin and his lips, feeling there deep lacerations, though the blood was already starting to clot.

“Fuck!” he shouted, kicking the wolf that was trying to drag its bum leg away. Even though the beast was larger than him now, as long as he avoided its snapping snout.

But then the wolf began to change before him. He saw the mass of flesh seemingly congeal into one unformed, undefined mass of meat, before a human torso, and arms, and shoulders, became obvious outlines. He was quite amazed by it, never having seen himself shift before, and he wondered why he had never tried recording it so he could watch what it looked like.

A head emerged, then hips and legs, and soon, curled up on the floor, was a gigantic man, every bit as impressive to him as the wolf would have been to other wolves.

“Who are you?” Dylan asked, advancing on the man. When he tried to get to his feet, Dylan kicked at his arm, buckling it so that the man fell backward instead. “Don’t get up. Just talk.”

Breathing hard, the man looked at him, and Dylan was shocked. He wore on his face so many scars and creases that spoke of fights… and time.

“Shit,” Dylan whispered, seeing an age in the man’s eyes. “How old are you?”

The man laughed then, rubbing at a bruise on his ribs. “You’re just a cub,” he shot back with contempt. “I don’t kill children. But when you’re all grown up,” he sneered, “then I’ll slash your throat and watch you bleed to death.”

“Like you did to Charlie Kinnear?”

“Yes,” the man said. “Exactly like that.”

He began to climb to his feet again, and Dylan stepped forward. “Don’t.”

“I’m in no shape to keep fighting,” he said. “Let me stand, at least.”

Sighing, Dylan relented. He needed answers. “Who are you?”

“My name is Marcus,” the man said, standing slowly. Even hunched over, apparently in pain, he was taller and wider than Dylan, a thick man lacking his lean stringiness. It was odd, then, that Marcus turned into an animal so lithe and nimble, while he turned into a bear, large and thunderous.

“Marcus,” he echoed. “Dylan.”

“I don’t care.”

“Why did you kill that old man?”

“He was a shapeshifter. Did you know that?”

“Yes,” Dylan said.

“Oh?” Marcus asked, sounding amused. “How?”

“I saw a photo of him from decades ago.”

“Ah,” the wolf-man sounded. “Accidental. You were not looking for him.”

“No,” Dylan said. He pointed a finger at Marcus. “I was looking for you.”

“Why?”

“To get answers.”

“Ask your questions, then.”

“What are we?”

Marcus looked confused for a moment, and that confused Dylan in turn. Then the gigantic man burst into laughter. “This poor young cub knows nothing of our kind.”

“This poor young cub,” Dylan said. “Just kicked your ass, and he’ll do it again.” Dylan closed the distance between them, but noticed something unexpected in the man’s posture. He was putting all of his weight on both legs.

Had Dylan felt that tendon snap? Or was it just the thrashing? Was Marcus as wounded as he thought?

“Just tell me,” Dylan began, but he was silenced. He spotted the first punch, but not the second. The initial glancing blow that grazed his chin was just a feint, and the second balled fist charged toward his cheek, splitting the skin on the bone beneath, and sending his vision into a dizzy mess.

“Argh!” he groaned, his body whipped around from the booming force of the blow. He carried the motion through, using its momentum to turn, as if he was performing a discus throw, and drove his fist into the hard sternum of Marcus, sending the giant man staggering backward, and gasping in winded agony.

Marcus dropped to one knee, and Dylan approached him, rubbing his cheek. His palm was dripping crimson when he pulled it from his face.

“I only want answers,” he said, pointing a finger at the man. “Just tell me what I want to know.” But he shook his head when he heard the response.

“Today, I’ll break you. Tomorrow, I’ll kill you.”

Marcus rose to his feet, his chest heaving, his muscles swollen with adrenaline, and charged, like an angry rhino. Dylan was caught, surprised by the speed of his burly adversary, and had a shoulder jammed into his abdomen. He felt his whole body rise into the air, and prepared himself for what he instinctively knew was coming.

Marcus slammed him back-first against the dusty ground, and plumes of red were sent streaking into the air, like it was an asteroid that impacted the earth. Dylan, his turn to be winded, coughed and spluttered, and sent an elbow into the side of Marcus’ head, catching him in the temple, but sending streaks of pain shooting up his own arm. He felt the dislocation, a tremor in his bones, and it was half a second later that the white-pain agony hit him.

He rolled to the side, clutching his elbow, getting to his feet, not taking his eyes off Marcus. “Why are we fighting?” he asked. “Why won’t you tell me anything?”

“Idiot child,” Marcus said through gritted teeth.

“Why are you so angry with me?” Dylan shouted. “What don’t I know, Marcus?”

The man’s head shot up to meet his eyes, a fiery ferocity in them. “You want to know something about yourself, boy?”

Dylan stepped backward, and extended his elbow, biting his teeth together from the pain. He felt something click, felt his whole arm jolt, and then the stinging ache began to subside. “Yes,” he said. “Tell me something about myself.”

“You are an abomination!” Marcus hurled. The redwood of a man climbed to his feet, and Dylan saw then that he had drawn blood, for Marcus’ temple was bleeding profusely. The skin had broken open from the sheer force of the hit.

“What? What about you?”

“So am I.”

Dylan knew that the man was going to charge again, and so he pounced forward, jabbing his right fist at Marcus’ face. But the blow felt slow, sluggish, and he knew the moment he had released it, as he watched his arm spring forward in slow motion, that he was going to miss.

Marcus ducked and rolled to the side, and in an instant shifted into an enormous wolf, hair growing out of his skin in time-lapse, and claws erupting from his nail beds.

He watched as Marcus’ face elongated into a thin and cruel snout, knife-like whites of enamel bared, and promising a messy death.

He stared at Marcus’ body, time slowed, and watched as it grew larger, leaner, thinner, until it was canine, a wolf, dark grey hair hiding beneath it a lithe structure that could leap meters high, and strike with eviscerating force.

How had he changed so quickly?

Dylan turned to run, catching a glimpse of the yellow eyes full of cloudy hatred and seething savagery. He ignored the snarl, the brutal bark, and sprinted as fast as he could, not daring to look back at the wolf that was no doubt in pursuit.

He began his own shift, then, falling onto all fours, growing in size to such an extent that even he wondered where all the extra mass came from. But he could not change with the haste that Marcus had. And as he slowed, shifting, no longer able to run, his internal organs and limbs and joints a mess in the middle of two forms, two species. The wolf caught up to him, and Dylan did notice a slight limp, but it was not enough to prevent the beast from jumping on top of him.

He felt the wolf’s teeth sink into his back, coil around his spine, but he ignored it, focused on the shift, and soon the wolf was hoisted off the ground, on the back of Dylan’s moon bear. And, like he had done before, he rolled. He heard the wolf’s yelp as it was crushed beneath his weight, and free of the canine threat, he squared up, staring out of his beady black eyes at the wolf’s nightmarish yellow orbs.

The two circled an invisible central point, wolf tracks in bear prints, kicking up enough dust that it formed an isolated fog of war around them, between them. Dylan was nearly twice the size of the wolf, but he knew that Marcus had speed and agility on his side.

Dylan growled, and lunged at the wolf, the full force of his bear charge containing enough crushing power to fell a horse. But the wolf dipped, and then sprang into the air, back curved like a boomerang. Dylan felt the wolf’s claws split open skin and fur on his back, and he was certain the carnivoran had just exposed his backbone to the dry desert air.

Roaring with rage, Dylan spun his body, flinging the wolf off. He heard the wolf thump against the ground, bones rattling and a cry of pain piercing the silent night. He reared himself onto his two hind legs then, and swung downward with his two paws, aiming to crush the wolf’s hips, to stop the beast from moving once and for all.

But again the wolf was too quick, rolling awkwardly away, before climbing to its feet, snarling and drooling blood-stained saliva. The snarls grew louder, more savage, and the wolf snapped at the air between them, as though making a promise of what was to become of Dylan.

Blinded by anger, Dylan charged again, this time catching the front left leg of the wolf in his jaw. He lifted his head up, and flung the wolf against the ground, and each time the great big body of the wolf slammed against the arid sand, Dylan felt his rage ebb.

Whimpering, the wolf’s body went limp, and Dylan let it go. He shifted back into a man, his body receding in a sickening fashion, lumps of hair and meat and muscle disappearing seemingly at random, as though he were trapped in some kind of bubble that spanned across two different dimensions.

Then, naked, crouched, he rose to his feet, standing over the wolf. Dylan dropped to one knee, and with his large hand wrapped it around the wolf’s snout, clamping it shut. The wolf, still whimpering in pain and kicking its legs uselessly at the sand, tried to resist, but Dylan punched it in the abdomen, halting the protest.