Fealty Of The Bear Read Online Free Page A

the gas. He didn’t have time for her to waste.
    When she pulled up in front of her cabin, she cut the engine and bolted around to the passenger’s side. With a quick check of his pulse—faint but steady—she unbuckled him and pulled him from the car. Her arms were done from loading him up, and he sank to the mud near her front tire. Her legs buckled and she gripped him tightly so his face wouldn’t hit the ground.
    “Sir, you have to wake up and help me get you inside.” He smelled completely of animal now and a soft snarl rattled his throat. Good. Rearing back, she slapped him across his jaw so hard, the palm of her hand stung. “Help me help you, man!”
    His eyes opened and she nearly choked on air. They were some feral inhuman color she’d never seen before, and she tried to scramble away. His hands gripped her upper arms in a motion so fast, he blurred.
    “Please don’t hurt me,” she pleaded. “I’m trying to save you.”
    His chest heaved and his jaw ticked as if he were trying to hold back how much pain he was really in. “You don’t hurt me,” he panted.
    His words tore her open. Someone had done unspeakable things to this man in order for his words to sound so raw and strangled.
    “I promise I won’t. I can’t carry you anymore though. Please, this is my house. You’re safe here.”
    “Safe,” he breathed as his legs bunched under him. He stood with grace but doubled over, and she rushed to position herself under his arm.
    His animal was calling to hers, urging her bear to claw and snarl inside of her, and she closed her eyes tightly against the urge to change. Stumbling forward, he lurched up the stairs and into her house. The couch was the closest place to lay him down, and as soon as she turned to rush for some linens to lay under him to protect the furniture, he inhaled a long ragged breath.
    “What’s your name?” he asked in a serious tone like he’d die on the word she would give him.
    “Muriel.”
    His lips formed the word, but no sound came out.
    “What’s yours?” she asked. He was fading, and in case he never woke up again, she needed to know who he was.
    “Logan.” A soft sigh left him and his eyes closed.
    Forget the sheets, he didn’t have time for her to protect her couch cushions. Rushing for her herb room, she searched frantically for the ingredients she needed.
    Stop the bleeding.
    Contain the swelling.
    Avoid infection.
    Stitches. Lots and lots of stitches.
    Bottles clanged as she pushed piles out of the way. Everything in her house was organized but this room. This was her wild room.
    Calendula, cleavers, goldenseal, plantain, yarrow, and she was going all out with a pain relief cocktail. Shifters didn’t react well to man-made medicines, but she could mix up something strong enough. Snatching a cloth bag from the table, she filled it with her gathered herbs, wads of sterile cloth bandages and added devils claw, turmeric, and feverfew.
    Sutures and needle in hand, she shouldered the bag and bolted for the living room.
    Struggling him out of his jacket and sweater was difficult, but removing the bandages was the worst. They were in various stages of drying and some stuck to his wounds.
    The sight of his bare torso drew her up short. Wide-eyed, she traced the crisscross patterns slashed into his flesh with her gaze. They must’ve been made by a small bear, perhaps a female. Even a pair of puncture wounds looked too close together to belong to a grizzly.
    “Who did you piss off?” she muttered as she threaded a sterilized needle.
    Some of the wounds were older, and scars silvered with age and barely visible decorated his arms. His neck was the only part of his skin that seemed clear of old battle wounds. But if he was a rogue like her father said, who the devil had he found to fight?
    It took the better part of an hour to sew sexy Humpty Dumpty back together again. No doubt, without his shifter healing, he would been in a lot more trouble. She coaxed a numbing