Blackstone Ranger Guardian: Chapter One and Two

Blackstone Ranger Guardian: Chapter One and Two

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Chapter One

A few months ago …

The humongous grizzly bear trudged through the blanket of snow on the ground, unbothered by neither the dangerously low temperatures nor the fast falling flakes piling up on its large block head and burly body. It continued to lumber along through the trees, going farther up the mountain.

Up here, John Krieger allowed his animal to take over their shared body. With the bear in charge, their senses remained sharp, their body could hold up against the elements, while the human side remained dull and suppressed.

It was the only place safe enough to allow the beast its freedom.

A howl in the distance made the bear pause. Krieger recognized the sound, as did his bear. Milos. He was their nearest neighbor—if he could be called that. He had never seen the wolf shifter in human skin, but Damon had told him about the other man’s presence on the mountain when he arrived about a year ago. Since then, the two of them had encountered each other a handful of times, both in animal form. While many in the past would have turned tail and run, the one-eyed wolf showed no fear in the presence of the mighty grizzly. In fact, Krieger had not sensed much of anything at all in the other shifter, except maybe recognizing their sameness. Here was another broken animal, hiding out from the world.

A few heartbeats passed, and there was no more howling. Was it a warning? Of what? Up here, near the highest peaks of the Blackstone Mountains, there were no dangers, at least not to apex predators like them. There was hardly anything or anyone up here at all, not in the dead of winter. The real bears were all deep in their den, hibernating. Perhaps there might be an odd shifter or two, but that was rare in this weather.

The grizzly continued on. They had a job to do, after all, and Krieger took his work as a Blackstone Ranger seriously, guarding the entrance to Contessa Peak for the last five years. There were a few hikers who dared scale the peak in better weather, so he always made sure they made it up and back down safely.

Mostly, though, it was shifters who roamed up here. After all, this was a sanctuary for all of their kind who lived in Blackstone, the one place they could truly feel safe in their animal skins. It was his job, too, to protect them and make sure they remained undisturbed.

Of course, there were the shifters that didn’t need protection, that is, they were the ones who protected the entirety of Blackstone itself. The Lennoxes were a family of dragons—four in total—who owned the mountains and the minerals in them that had made them one of the richest families in the world. Though Krieger had never met any of them personally, he’d seen them several times in the last few years, flying and dipping like gigantic graceful butterflies as they chased each other or conducted flying races, using the jagged crown of Contessa Peak as a finish line. The largest one was the sire, and then there were the twin males who were indistinguishable from each other, and the smaller female one, who seemed just as fierce as her brothers.

Yes, he took this job seriously. It was not only his life, but also his salvation, allowing him to live and remain undisturbed for the most part. Encounters with others were few and far between, he made sure of that. He used his excellent sense of hearing and smell to keep track of who and what was up and around Contessa Peak. If he found a lost hiker or shifter, it was easy enough to call HQ to have them picked up or rescued, watching over them until help came. Rarely did he come near others. No, it was too much. Too risky.

He continued on, rounding the perimeter of his patrol area. All rangers on duty had a schedule and a route to follow, but his sole area of responsibility remained the same. It didn’t matter what day or time it was. There was a sheet of paper tacked up in his cabin with his hours and days of duty, but it had been so faded, he could barely read the print. For him, there were no weekends, no vacations, no off-hours. Contessa Peak was his responsibility, his to protect at all hours, all days. The patrol, the job, the guard, that was all that mattered to him and his bear. They were entrusted by the chief and the Blackstone Dragons to keep everyone here safe, and so that’s what they would do. He was very good at following orders, after all.

The wind, which had already been whipping when he left his little cabin, had now picked up. As the minutes and hours passed, it grew stronger, blowing sleet across the mountains. Not good, Krieger thought. A freak snowstorm, perhaps.

The CB radio he had in his cabin was the only form of communication he had to the outside world. He relied on it for information, from which ranger worked what area to alerts for lost hikers, but more important, weather for the day. The dispatcher hadn’t said anything about a storm coming this morning, so it must have blown in from out of nowhere.

Need to turn back, he told his bear. Sure, if things got rough, they could probably dig a den in the ground and hold up until it passed, but why bother when he knew exactly where they were and how far the walk back to the cabin was? Despite the nearly white-out conditions, his keen sense of direction was like a compass, keeping him oriented at all times.

The bear lumbered around, but halted halfway. What the hell—

There.

His grizzly picked up on it before he did. The sound was faint, but it was there.

Small, slowing faint footsteps of four paws trudging through snow.

A pathetic scritch-scratch sound.

A heartbeat.

Someone was out there. And they were in trouble.

Bear and man were one in body and mind as they focused their senses. Nearby, for sure. The bear followed the sounds, like a beacon in the white vastness of the storm. The footsteps had stopped now. Then the little panting sounds. Until finally it was just the patter of the heartbeat, slowing down to a near halt.

Six feet to the left, about two feet below the snow.

How he and his bear knew where the sounds came from, Krieger didn’t question. There was only the need to find out whatever it was and help them. The layer of snow was no match for the bear’s paws as it dug through the ice like it was paper. Finally, buried underneath all that white, bits of red fur began to appear. Krieger had to slow his animal down, directing its sharp claws to dig around the poor, half-frozen creature, and pull it out.

Huh.

It was so small in his giant paws, but it was obvious now what it was, from the reddish and gray fur, pointed snout and ears, plus the black-tipped paws. A fox. Its bushy red tail hung down, limp, like the rest of its body.

Poor thing. Its ragged breaths and faintly beating heart told him the creature was still alive, but just barely. Shifter, his animal instinct whispered.

His bear roared loudly, a garbled sound his ears couldn’t decipher. It was as if it was trying to catch his attention, telling him something.

Need to get out of the cold. Get it warm and dry in the cabin. He usually avoided dealing directly with hikers and other shifters, but there was no time to contact HQ, nor would he leave this creature out in the cold to freeze to death. Carefully tucking it into the crook of its arm, the bear got onto two feet and began the long walk back to their den.

The fox didn’t stir or make any more sounds in their arms. Out cold. Shifters were stronger than their human or animal counterparts, but they still had their limits. Maybe this little creature overestimated theirs or it, too, had been caught in the sudden storm. He could imagine that it got lost, then turned around when the storm came in.

Finally, he spied the light of his cabin in the distance. By now, the storm was in full force, and if he didn’t have his sense of direction or keen senses, he would have been lost too. His strength, though, had dwindled from all that work, so he shifted back as he trudged up the porch steps, now fully human as his hand reached for the doorknob and staggered inside.

The lights flickered overhead before dying, plunging the cabin into darkness. Got here just in time, thank fuck.

He was bone-tired, but he still had his little friend to think about. The fox remained tucked into the crook of his arm. It looked bigger than he initially thought, a full-grown adult, he reckoned. Still, it didn’t move. The breathing was more even now, but its body remained heavy, perhaps conserving its energy to heal itself. He could relate—he, too, was exhausted. So, he stumbled toward the largest piece of furniture in the single living space in his cabin—the bed—and collapsed on top of it. As his eyelids grew heavier and heavier, he tucked the fox closer to his body, sharing his warmth, then passed out cold, but not before he made out what his bear had been trying to say.

Mine.

 

Chapter Two

Cold. Freezing cold.

That was the last thing Dutchy Forrester felt before her poor fox’s body gave out from fatigue.

The snowstorm appeared out of nowhere and whirled around them, making them lose their sense of direction. Up was down and down was up. As a shifter, she should have been able to last through hours of physical activity, but between trying to keep their body warm and trudging through piling snow, they had depleted their energy stores until it simply ran out.

Should have known my limits. But the call of the mountains and fresh air and trees was too much, and she’d been working her human side hard these past months. After all, her business had finally gotten off the ground and reaching heights she never thought possible.

However, eighty-hour weeks doing nothing but designing, sewing, fitting, and dealing with clients were taking its toll, and her fox finally said, enough. It wanted to get out, be in nature. And so, she let it free and let it roam, in one of the safest places she knew—up in the Blackstone Mountains where others like her could just be themselves.

The fox had been elated. After weeks and weeks of being trapped, it was finally free. Free to run and roll around in the dirt and dig with claws and hunt tiny prey. Dutchy couldn’t bear to pull it back; besides, being in animal form for a few hours always gave her the best burst of creative energy. In fox form, her senses were stronger—smells so much more pungent, sounds so clear even from a distance.

And the colors. Oh, the colors! Even in the winter, they were beautiful. The pure verdant of the pine trees. Deep browns of tree bark. Rich, black soil under their paws. And the bright blue sky … there was nothing in her collection of colored pencils and markers that could do justice to such an indescribable color. Ideas bloomed in her head as her creative energy flourished.

She’d been so wrapped up in the throes of inspiration that she hadn’t noticed the sky turning gray or the wind picking up. By the time she saw the snow whipping around them, it had been too late. She had no idea where her fox had taken her. Everything was white and cold.

Was she dead? The afterlife seemed terribly dark. And lumpy. At least it was underneath her. Everywhere else, it was warm. No, it was hot.

Uh-oh. Maybe I ended up in the other place.

The heat seemed to be concentrated behind her, as something hard pressed along the backside of her body. She found she could wiggle her toes and fingers, but the rest of her limbs were immobilized, held together by vise-like devices.

What the hell?

As her brain’s function slowly returned, her shifter vision adjusted to the darkness. She wasn’t in some kind of purgatory waiting room. Unless purgatory was a log cabin and a lumpy mattress. And those vises keeping her immobile? Those were definitely arms. Large, muscled, hairy arms. Belonging to a large, muscled, hairy male.

Oh God.

Her entire body froze. Her brain went on alert. Danger. However, her fox didn’t make a move or a sound. Normally, it would warn her, kicking in her flight or fight instinct. But no, her animal remained docile. Curious, even.

Stop messing around, she told it. They had to get out of here. Who knows what this man was capable of?

A warm breath blew on her neck, a tingle traveled up her body, from her toes to the top of her head.

Oooohhhh.

A hot, embarrassing flush of arousal coursed through her. What the hell? Was it too early to have Stockholm Syndrome?

Okay, she told her fox. If I shift, that would make us small enough to escape these tree trunks he has for arms. Then we can run—

But the fox shook its head and hunkered down, as if to say, nuh-uh, no way.

Are you crazy? She mentally pulled her hair out. We can’t—

The hulking male’s grip loosened, and her brain told her to go. Now. With a deep breath, she planted an elbow on the mattress and pushed herself off the bed. She hadn’t even moved an inch before she landed flat on her back, the very hard—and very naked—male body pinning her down.

The urge to fight was there, but somehow, her body didn’t work. No, instead, she looked up at her captor, her gaze colliding with bright blue eyes.

Oh.

Forget about the blue winter sky. No, these eyes were the true indescribable blue.

Mine.

Was that—

Mine, the voice inside her repeated.

And a deep, beautifully haunting sound from somewhere deep in him replied. Mine.

“You’re my—”

She never finished the sentence as his mouth crashed over hers. The kiss was savage, with an edge of hunger she’d never felt before, from anyone or herself. It was consuming and at the same time, she wanted to devour him too. The taste of him was incredible—smoky, rich, and oh so male. And his scent. She wanted it all over herself, wanted to drown in it until she died a blissful, happy death.

 

Blackstone Ranger Guardian Releases November 12

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