Bear Necessities (Bad Boy Alphas): A Post-Apocalyptic Bear Shifter Romance Read Online Free Page B
Author: Selena Kitt
she’d been perceptive enough to attempt both in his presence.
“I…” She swallowed, and was once again saved by another long, keening howl.
This one was closer, and the sound of it actually made goose flesh rise on her arms.
“Come.” Alistair smiled again, eyes narrowing as he guided his horse to the right.
Sibyl urged her horse forward and the mare reluctantly followed Alistair’s big, black steed through the trees. There was no worn path here, but horses had been through this way before nonetheless. The foliage was denser, the ground covered in bluebells. It was a lovely ride, to tell the truth, and Sibyl would have enjoyed it immensely if it hadn’t been for her companion, her damnable saddle and dress, and, alarmingly, the sound of that wounded animal.
“There it is again.” Sibyl stopped her horse, straining to hear. The men were off to the north, so it wasn’t a result of an arrow finding its mark. At least, not from any of MacFalon’s men. Mayhaps there were other hunters in these woods, she mused, or mayhaps trappers. Although, this was MacFalon land, and anyone setting traps would be seen as a poacher. It was a crime punishable by death in the Middle March, but Donal said you had to catch them first. The border was thick with thieves—reavers, they called them—always poised to steal from a laird.
“Come.” Alistair jerked his head forward, urging his horse on, and Sibyl sighed and obediently followed.
They were headed in the direction of the sound of the wounded animal. As the horses made their way through the trees, the cry grew louder. This wasn’t the wolf call she’d heard. This was the sound of an animal trapped, perhaps injured. Might be it was the wolf’s kill she was hearing? Surely Alistair had to hear it now? But she didn’t stop again, didn’t ask him. He seemed to know exactly where he was going. The path narrowed, the horses parading through the trees single file, dappled sunlight falling on the carpet of bluebells that scattered the forest floor.
“Are ye ready t’be brave, Lady Blackthorne?” he called over his shoulder, grinning back at her.
She’d never seen him smile so wide or look so delighted doing so. It gave her a chill and she slowed her already sluggish horse, letting Alistair pull even further ahead.
“Look ‘ere.” Alistair stopped his horse, the big steed dancing sideways, perhaps surprised by the sudden maneuver.
Sibyl’s mare halted without her doing anything and the horse’s ears twitched. The old nag shook its head, shuddering Sibyl on its back, and she wondered at the motion. A fly in its ear mayhaps? But Winnie seemed jumpy all of a sudden, and for this horse, that was a miracle. Even Fian, Alistair’s war horse, was stomping and pawing at the dirt.
And then she saw it.
The animal was enormous, but the cage even bigger. Sibyl sat rooted in her saddle, staring at the white wolf pacing back and forth, round and round. It saw them and its hackles rose, teeth bared in a snarl. Its eyes were a bright, luminous blue, a color she didn’t even know existed in nature.
“A wolf!” she whispered, incredulous, sliding down from her horse—side-saddles did make for an easier dismount. She’d never seen one before. Coyotes, dogs, yes. Drawings and paintings of wolves, even a horribly, smelly wolf hide her father’s huntsman liked to wear, but never a real wolf.
Winnie nickered and tossed her head as Sibyl passed. The horse, divested of its rider, decided to back a safe distance away from the giant, iron cage. She wondered at the construction of the thing as she neared it, barely hearing Alistair’s cry of caution. Someone had dragged this monstrosity—the cage, not the wolf—down the path to this small clearing, had perhaps even created the spot itself, scattering underbrush to make way for it.
“Is it a trap?” she wondered aloud, glancing up as Alistair quickly dismounted
“I…” She swallowed, and was once again saved by another long, keening howl.
This one was closer, and the sound of it actually made goose flesh rise on her arms.
“Come.” Alistair smiled again, eyes narrowing as he guided his horse to the right.
Sibyl urged her horse forward and the mare reluctantly followed Alistair’s big, black steed through the trees. There was no worn path here, but horses had been through this way before nonetheless. The foliage was denser, the ground covered in bluebells. It was a lovely ride, to tell the truth, and Sibyl would have enjoyed it immensely if it hadn’t been for her companion, her damnable saddle and dress, and, alarmingly, the sound of that wounded animal.
“There it is again.” Sibyl stopped her horse, straining to hear. The men were off to the north, so it wasn’t a result of an arrow finding its mark. At least, not from any of MacFalon’s men. Mayhaps there were other hunters in these woods, she mused, or mayhaps trappers. Although, this was MacFalon land, and anyone setting traps would be seen as a poacher. It was a crime punishable by death in the Middle March, but Donal said you had to catch them first. The border was thick with thieves—reavers, they called them—always poised to steal from a laird.
“Come.” Alistair jerked his head forward, urging his horse on, and Sibyl sighed and obediently followed.
They were headed in the direction of the sound of the wounded animal. As the horses made their way through the trees, the cry grew louder. This wasn’t the wolf call she’d heard. This was the sound of an animal trapped, perhaps injured. Might be it was the wolf’s kill she was hearing? Surely Alistair had to hear it now? But she didn’t stop again, didn’t ask him. He seemed to know exactly where he was going. The path narrowed, the horses parading through the trees single file, dappled sunlight falling on the carpet of bluebells that scattered the forest floor.
“Are ye ready t’be brave, Lady Blackthorne?” he called over his shoulder, grinning back at her.
She’d never seen him smile so wide or look so delighted doing so. It gave her a chill and she slowed her already sluggish horse, letting Alistair pull even further ahead.
“Look ‘ere.” Alistair stopped his horse, the big steed dancing sideways, perhaps surprised by the sudden maneuver.
Sibyl’s mare halted without her doing anything and the horse’s ears twitched. The old nag shook its head, shuddering Sibyl on its back, and she wondered at the motion. A fly in its ear mayhaps? But Winnie seemed jumpy all of a sudden, and for this horse, that was a miracle. Even Fian, Alistair’s war horse, was stomping and pawing at the dirt.
And then she saw it.
The animal was enormous, but the cage even bigger. Sibyl sat rooted in her saddle, staring at the white wolf pacing back and forth, round and round. It saw them and its hackles rose, teeth bared in a snarl. Its eyes were a bright, luminous blue, a color she didn’t even know existed in nature.
“A wolf!” she whispered, incredulous, sliding down from her horse—side-saddles did make for an easier dismount. She’d never seen one before. Coyotes, dogs, yes. Drawings and paintings of wolves, even a horribly, smelly wolf hide her father’s huntsman liked to wear, but never a real wolf.
Winnie nickered and tossed her head as Sibyl passed. The horse, divested of its rider, decided to back a safe distance away from the giant, iron cage. She wondered at the construction of the thing as she neared it, barely hearing Alistair’s cry of caution. Someone had dragged this monstrosity—the cage, not the wolf—down the path to this small clearing, had perhaps even created the spot itself, scattering underbrush to make way for it.
“Is it a trap?” she wondered aloud, glancing up as Alistair quickly dismounted
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