Mallory's Bears(63)

It’s him.

The man that had attacked her, the killer that had slaughtered the cattle, bent to the ground. Reaching to a spot that was hidden by the cow’s body, he stood up and pointed a rifle at the men.

She screamed in the same moment that he shot Rick.





Chapter Eleven




Mallory didn’t think. Couldn’t think.

Rick went down on his front legs. Another shot shattered the air, jerking his body again. He staggered and roared, then went down on the black asphalt.

Rebel growled then launched himself at the man. His body jerked in midair as another shot rang out. Rebel yelped, full of torment, then fell to the road and landed next to Rick.

Gunner bellowed his rage, nudged his brother, then lifted onto his back legs. Slowly, rocking from side to side, he raised his massive paws into the air, claws extended, and came at the man.

She reacted, darting her gaze for anything she could use as a weapon. When she saw the shovel in the bed of the pickup, she lunged out of the truck, grabbed it, and ran to the side of the road.

Her thoughts turned to the memory of the poor cow lying in the ditch as she used the cover of another ditch to work her way behind the man. Gunner was huge, saliva dripping from his jaws. The man, his attention focused on the furious bear in front of him, backed away, cursing at Gunner, telling him that he’d die a slow, awful death.

She didn’t let his threats affect her. If she did, the fear she held at bay would take over and render her weak and useless.

The man taunted Gunner, shooting a couple of shots over Gunner’s head. Although Gunner faltered in his step when the shots rang out, he kept closing the distance between them.

She scrambled out of the ditch, careful to stay out of the man’s peripheral vision. Would Gunner recognize her in his bear form? Or would he attack her, too? And yet, if that was the case, she’d die happy knowing that she’d saved him.

Praying silently, she lifted the shovel over her head and crept toward the man. Gunner roared, whether at him or at her, she wasn’t sure. Something made the man stop, lower his rifle then begin to turn toward her.

Please.

Using every ounce of strength she could muster, she struck out, slamming the shovel against his head.

He yelled, then staggered back, dropping the gun as he did. But he wasn’t out. Not yet. She hurried to him, then lifted her weapon again. He glared up at her, his glowing eyes filled with hatred.

She stared down at him, her own hatred giving her the last ounce of strength she needed. “No one hurts my men.”

His eyes widened, terror filling them with a wild gleam. Fur spread over his jaw as fangs layered over his lips. Bringing the shovel down, she rammed it against his forehead, and barely noted the sickening thud it made as skin and fur-covered bones gave way.

Slowly, she backed up, her arms heavy. Blood covered his face, a face she wasn’t sure still existed. She dropped the shovel at her feet, then sank to the road.

I killed him.

“Mallory, damn it, he could’ve shot you.” A very human Gunner folded her into his arms.

Why was she shaking so much? Her teeth chattered and her mind swam. “Rick?”

Gunner glanced at Rick then back at her, worry etched in his forehead. “Stay here. I’m going to call for help.”

He laid her on the road, gently, lovingly.



* * * *



Mallory sat beside Rick. She hadn’t left his side since several of the men’s friends had come to help them. They’d taken the killer, somehow still alive, with them and promised to return him to his werewolf pack on the condition that they exact their justice immediately.

She was relieved to find that she hadn’t taken a man’s life, but had no problem admitting that, if she had it to do over again, she would.

“He’s getting better.”

Gunner rested his hand on her shoulder and she covered his with her own. “I know. The wound’s healing well.”

“Then get some rest. I swear he won’t die or anything while you sleep.”

“Promise?”

“Cross my heart. You know him. He’s too damn bullheaded to die. Men like him never die. They just nasty away.”

She laughed. “I guess that includes me. I remember someone saying that I’m just as stubborn as he is.”

Sadness enveloped her. “I’m sorry about Rebel.”

“Yeah. He was a good dog. A great dog. Sometimes, I think I liked him more than my own brother.”

She smiled at his attempt to lighten the mood. They’d buried Rebel behind the barn under the tree where he liked to sleep on warm days.

“And that man?” She couldn’t bring herself to say his name.

“The Carr brothers took care of him. He’s been sent to another pack on the West Coast. One that will pound some sense into his head.”