Bad Blood Bear (Bad Blood Shifters Book 1) Read online

  He was hurting Lissa.

  Tank’s fist crunched through the wall before he even realized what he was doing. It felt good, so he did it again and again. Dust and bits of drywall rained down.

  Finally he stopped, his muscles feeling limp. There was a huge hole in the wall, and a pile of drywall fragments and dust on the floor.

  He glanced at Flynn, ducking his head. “Sorry,” he muttered.

  The rest of them were watching him silently. “We’ll fix it later,” Jasmin said.

  Tank turned to Flynn. “Can we still keep Lissa here? Even with the magic?” He didn’t know what he’d do if Flynn said no. Maybe take her to Georgia. He couldn’t just abandon her.

  Flynn sighed, scrubbing at his hair. “I’m not happy about it, especially if that magic is going to keep her from submitting to my authority as alpha. But I don’t see that we’ve got any choice. She still has a rogue bear inside her she can’t control, and she’s already attacked people. She’s a danger to herself, to humans, and to the shifter community. We either keep her here, or turn her over to the Council.”

  Tank snarled at that.

  Flynn continued, “Which I agree is a bad idea, until we actually know what she’s done and who she’s killed, if anyone.”

  Tank started flexing his fists again. He wanted to bleed someone. Kill something.

  “Tank!” Flynn’s voice snapped through the air like a whip crack. “You need to get some air. Why don’t you drive back over to Lissa’s squat and pick up her things?”

  Tank bit his lips. He should do that. It was something he could do for Lissa, and he needed to do something for her. But he couldn’t step away from the wall. He felt like he was tethered to Lissa with a bungee cord. The further away he went, the more it pulled at him.

  Sloan said softly, “I’ll sit with her.”

  “You can’t—she doesn’t—” She didn’t know Sloan. Tank knew she didn’t really know him either, but it felt wrong to leave her with someone else. He should take care of her.

  “She’ll be okay,” Flynn said, shoving alpha authority into his tone.

  Tank looked desperately at him. “Promise me you won’t put her in the crazy shed. Even if she goes wild again.”

  The crazy shed was the reinforced building with the iron lock—the one Xander had been locked in earlier. They only used it as a last resort, when someone’s animal was so out of control they were a danger to themselves, but Lissa didn’t know that.

  “She doesn’t understand yet. She’ll be terrified.”

  “We’ll take care of her,” Flynn promised. “But you’re too riled up. You need a breather.”

  Tank shook himself. Flynn was right. He couldn’t think straight.

  “Okay,” he muttered. “Okay.”

  Chapter 13

  Tank went back to his room to check on Lissa once more before he left. He sat on the bed, watching her sleep, all curled up on her side with her hands pulled up close to her chest.

  Don’t get emotionally involved.

  Hadn’t he just told himself that not more than two hours ago? When had that changed? When had seeing her in pain started ripping his guts out?

  It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He wasn’t supposed to be hurting for other people, letting them get under his skin. Especially not a woman.

  He was no good to any woman. Everything happy and joyful and romantic in him had been destroyed when Angie died.

  All he could do was try to take care of Lissa until she was capable of being on her own again. She was strong; she was a survivor. He had to believe she’d make it through.

  Sloan appeared in the doorway, carrying a battered acoustic guitar. Tank stared at him. “I didn’t know you played guitar.”

  “You don’t know shit about me,” Sloan said, but not like he was pissed about it. Just like he was stating a fact. “I thought music might make her sleep better.”

  Tank nodded. “Thanks for sitting with her.”

  The corner of Sloan’s mouth tilted up. “She didn’t take any shit off Xander. I like her.” He settled into Tank’s big leather chair and began to tune the guitar.

  Tank nodded again. He touched Lissa’s shoulder, pulling the covers up a little further, and then went out.

  When he got to his truck, Xander was sitting in the passenger seat, writing dirty words in the dust on Tank’s dashboard.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” Tank demanded. He was in no mood.

  For once, there was no asshat comeback. “I want to go with you. To get Lissa’s stuff.”

  “Why?” Tank asked bluntly. “Did Flynn assign you to make sure I don’t go berserk or something?”

  “That’s bearserk to you,” Xander said. “And no. I’m more likely to drive you bearserk than stop it, which he knows perfectly well.” He turned his head away and gazed out the window. “I just want to come.”

  Tank stared at the back of his head for a long moment, trying to figure his angle. Then he gave up and got in the truck. He didn’t have the energy to argue with Xander right now.

  He turned the truck around and they drove to the squat in silence, Xander with the window all the way down and his hand sticking out like a little kid, playing with the air resistance.

  Tank pulled his truck into the abandoned parking lot and then led Xander in through the boarded-up window. Xander wandered through the convenience store area, his nostrils flaring as he took in the scents.

  Tank said, “She has some kitchen stuff on the counter over there. Grab one of those empty boxes and start packing it up, would you?”

  He expected some pushback, but Xander just nodded and headed for a pile of cardboard boxes near the checkout stand.

  Tank went into the bathroom and collected the few toiletries Lissa had left there, then moved on to the office. He packed up her moth-eaten blanket in case she wanted it, and her few clothes. Just as he was finishing up, Xander came in, looking around the squat with his impassive gaze.

  “That’s everything,” Tank said.

  Xander gazed at him. “You sure?”

  Tank said, “You see anything else?”

  Xander tilted his head, then went into the bathroom, took the lid off the toilet tank, and checked inside.

  Finding nothing, he returned to the bedroom. As Tank watched, he pulled up the couch cushions, revealing Lissa’s sheathed knife. Then he knelt down and ran his hand under the bottom of the couch and came up with another canister of pepper spray.

  He added those to Tank’s box. After that, he took the pictures off the wall and checked the backs of the frames. He went through the desk drawers and checked the bottoms, and underneath the kneehole. When he was done, he had fifty-two dollars in small bills, and an ipod with almost no charge.

  “How did you know all this was here?” Tank asked.

  Xander just said, “You’ve been spending too much time shitting in the woods, Teddy Bear, and not enough time being homeless in the city.”

  He looked around the room again, and then shoved aside a small bookcase filled with junk. Behind it was a hole in the wall leading to the storeroom next door, which had more junk jammed against its door, preventing it from being opened from the other side.

  “What’s that?” Tank asked, curious.

  Xander gave him an unreadable look. “Bolt hole,” he said. “In case people come in the front, she can crawl through here and get out that window.” He pointed to the window in the room next door. “Give me a sec,” he added.

  Xander crawled through into the storeroom and unpiled some boxes in the corner. The bottom one was half full of toilet paper. It made Tank smile and feel sad at the same time. Lissa had been so happy to have toilet paper.

  Xander was pawing through the individually wrapped rolls, and found what looked like a sheet of white paper folded in half. He climbed back through the hole and handed it to Tank. “That’s all I got,” he said. “If we missed something, she’ll have to come back and get it.”

  Tank unfolded the
paper. It was actually two sheets of printer paper, with another thirty-six dollars folded inside. She hadn’t been spending much of the money he’d given her.

  The top paper was a printout of a web page advertising organically grown products, including artisan bread. He looked down at the logo. The People of Ursus, and a cute black bear eating honey.

  The next page was a color printout of a photo, maybe also from the website, of Lissa and a little wrinkled man who looked like he was about a hundred and three.

  Brother Matthias. He was taking a bite out of something—a slice of bread maybe—and they were both laughing.

  She must have printed this off the internet sometime after she’d left, he realized. At a library or coffee shop. The only keepsake she had.

  She must have really cared about Brother Matthias. And this Damien fucker had probably murdered him.

  Note to self: when you kill Brother Damien, do it slowly.

  He put the papers and money into the box with the rest of her things. Xander didn’t say anything more, just picked up the box and started walking out. Tank grabbed the other half-filled box off the counter in the convenience store as they passed by, and they carried them out to the truck.

  They were halfway back to the compound before Xander spoke. He said, “I was Turned, too, you know.”

  Tank hadn’t known. Xander never talked about himself. Tank just stayed quiet, letting Xander talk.

  “It was a girl. Cindi,” he said. “With an ‘i’. Who the fuck names a panther Cindi? She used to sign her name with little hearts over the ‘i’s.” He shook his head. “I was all crazy in love with her, and one night when we were in bed she just bit the shit out of my shoulder. No warning, no, ‘hey, do you want to be a panther for the rest of your life?’ Nothing.”

  Tank said inadequately, “That sucks.”

  Xander gave a mirthless laugh. “Yeah, it does. My animal would come out randomly and just tear things up. I couldn’t hold a job, couldn’t see my friends, couldn’t be around my family. And every time Cindi got near me, I Changed involuntarily and attacked her.” He paused. “I was pretty pissed at her when I wasn’t Changed, too, come to think of it.”

  He stared out the window. “I tried to join a couple of crews, but it never worked out. My animal was too messed up, and I didn’t know shit about being a shifter. So I just went rogue, and then somebody who didn’t like me much sent Alexander Fucking Grant’s hunters my address. Hard to believe, right? ‘Cause I’m such a nice guy.”

  He went silent, his hand out the window, running it up and down the air currents in waves.

  “She might be scared to let you take care of her, but do it anyway,” he said quietly. “Nobody deserves that shit.”

  Chapter 14

  When they got back to the compound, Xander got out of the truck and walked off without another word. A minute later, as Tank was getting Lissa’s boxes out of the back of the truck, he heard the wooden ‘thwak’ of Xander’s throwing knives, as he hurled them toward the target he’d set up near his trailer.

  When he got into the house, Flynn was up in the loft, leaning on the railing and gazing out the huge windows at the apex of the roof. From the level of liquor in the bottle he was holding, it looked like he’d been drinking since they’d left.

  He was drinking too much lately. Or maybe he always had; Tank hadn’t known him before they got stuck in Grant’s cells together. All he knew was it wasn’t good for him. It made him morose and defeated.

  Tank hesitated, yearning to go to Lissa, but he could hear soft guitar music coming from his room, so she must still be asleep. And Flynn was his friend, and he was hurting too. Tank put down the boxes and climbed the stairs to the loft.

  The whole thing was a master suite, with an office/sitting area where Flynn was standing, and then the door to the bedroom and bath beyond. The bedroom and bathroom walls were glass, with a remote-control tinting feature that could be darkened for privacy, or lightened to allow the occupant the full view out the windows.

  Tank walked over and leaned on the balcony railing next to his friend. Flynn took a long swallow of booze, and this time he didn’t offer the bottle.

  “You believe in past lives, Tank?” he asked. “I’m thinking I must’ve fucked up big in one of mine. Because all that happens in this one is me losing everything, and getting headcase shifters dumped in my lap in return. I’m fucking moving to Tahiti, and I’m not taking anyone with me.”

  Tank nodded. You couldn’t reason with a drunk person, so he went with it. “Okay. Can I have your room after you’re gone?”

  Flynn snorted. “Only if you want to be alpha. Which you don’t. I don’t even want to be alpha.” He took a deep swallow.

  “Want to know what my week’s been like?” he asked. “Jasmin and Xander get into at least two or three brawls a day, half of them because Xander goads Sloan into Changing and then Sloan starts getting his ass kicked because he’s a fucking submissive. How the hell he survived the Professor’s shit I’ll never know.”

  Tank remained silent. Flynn didn’t talk much about his feelings, and if he needed to vent, Tank wasn’t going to stop him.

  “Then Xander goes over to your construction site every time you’re not around, and steals half your shit, and I have to go over to his trailer and make him take it back so you two won’t get into it any more than you already do. He knows we have a fucking budget for lumber and supplies to make improvements, but will he ask me for his share? No, of course not. I can’t tell if he’s too proud or is just having too much fun messing with you.”

  “Both, probably,” Tank said. “I should go buy everything he needs, pile it up and put a sign on it saying ‘Tank’s special project, do not take.’ He’d have his place fixed up in no time.”

  Flynn gave a snort of laughter. “See, I should have thought of that. All I can think of is holding him down by the throat until he’s flailing like a mackerel on a fishing line.”

  It was an amusing image, but Tank was feeling a little more charitable towards Xander at the moment. “Did you know he was Turned against his will? By a woman he was in love with.”

  “Shit,” Flynn said. “No, I didn’t.”

  “He told me when we were driving back from Lissa’s squat.”

  “Shit,” Flynn said again.

  He went quiet for a few minutes.

  “See?” he said finally. “If I were a real alpha, I’d know this stuff. I’d fucking figure out how to talk to these people. But all I can think of is that I haven’t slept in three nights, because I’m having nightmares about Alexander Grant’s cells. Last night I sleep-changed and found myself back there at that goddamned abandoned bunker. My lion tried to dig up the bones of those fucking guards so I could kill them again.”

  Tank winced. He hadn’t known any of this. He knew Flynn roamed at night, but not why, or where he went.

  They all were suffering in silence. They all should be talking to each other more. They just didn’t know how.

  Flynn gazed out the window. “You know what they call us, over at the Nashville pack, and up at Shifter Council headquarters? The Bad Blood crew. All tainted. All fucked up. They’re taking bets on how long it’s going to take us to implode.”

  He took another long swig of liquor and sighed. “Tank, I can barely keep my shit together, let alone everyone else’s. I’m about at the end of my rope here.”

  Tank knew he was the only one Flynn would admit that to. He kind of wished he wouldn’t. Tank needed a strong alpha right now, somebody he could lean on, somebody who could settle his bear. And Flynn’s lion was on the ragged edge. Hell, they were all on the ragged edge.

  “You need to make them pledge to you,” he said. “Right now, they’re still a bunch of fucked-up shifters thrown together by happenstance. They have to become a crew.”

  Although Flynn was the owner of the territory, and theoretically the alpha of the crew, he only had a limited influence on the other shifters unless they acknowledged him as their
alpha and pledged their loyalty to him.

  Right now, he was expending way too much energy trying to keep them in line with the strength of his presence alone, without the alpha bond to augment it.

  Tank knew why Flynn had been hesitating. Although lions usually roamed in prides, this crew wasn’t Flynn’s family. Tank didn’t know Flynn’s past—he never talked about it. But all of them had lost everything in their lives, and if Flynn had a pride to go back to, he would have done it by now.

  He had no one, just like the rest of them. And this bunch of misfits wasn’t any substitute for family. God knows if they ever would be—they all hated the world, and sometimes each other.

  Tank had been close to Tristan, and he and Jasmin were good friends, when they weren’t bleeding each other. The other two mostly got on his nerves.

  And Flynn was close to no one—except maybe Tank.

  Flynn sighed. “I know,” he said softly. “It’s just, if I do that…”

  If he did that, he was stuck here for good. He was admitting that this was all he had left of his life. He was making himself responsible not just for protecting the crew, but bringing them back from the brink, or putting them down if he couldn’t.

  He was setting himself up to fail, and Tank knew how that kind of failure weighed on Flynn. He’d seen his face when they thought they’d have to put Tristan down. It had just about killed him, even thinking about it.

  None of them were willing to commit to this. Including him.

  As if Flynn were reading his mind, he said, “I noticed when you were talking about the crew pledging to me, you said ‘them’ and not ‘us.’ You don’t see me as your alpha either.”

  Tank rubbed one hand through his hair, trying to figure out how to explain. He hadn’t realized until this moment how much his unwillingness to pledge was bothering his friend. Flynn thought Tank didn’t respect him enough to pledge to him, and he’d never admit it, but it hurt him.

  Tank moved down the railing until their shoulders were touching. “It’s not you, man,” he said quietly. “It’s me.”