Dean headed out of the bathroom, wishing he had some clothes to put on. He had no clue what Trigger had done with the outfit he’d worn there, but he’d ditched one shirt and used the other to stop the flow of blood at his side.

  Trigger wasn’t far behind. He veered off into the kitchen as Dean made his way to the front door. He stopped long enough to grab the pajama bottoms Trigger had tossed aside last night, put them on, then opened the door.

  Dean stepped outside and inhaled a lungful of the fresh morning air. He’d taken a seat on the front steps, trying to figure out what he should do when he saw Clint heading his way.

  Clint eyed Dean as he approached. “Heard you caught a lucky break.”

  Dean had no clue what he was talking about. “I ate the food and slept in the bed, but the damn bear didn’t eat me.” He looked away, uncaring that Clint was one of the bears who could have ended him.

  Clint grunted. “Yeah, Goldilocks, you’re damn lucky none of us bears put a bullet in your skull.”

  Dean glared at him. “Like you did to Nolan?”

  “I didn’t touch your partner.” Clint reclined against the railing, resting a foot on the bottom step. “But now that you’re one of us, I say we bury the hatchet.”

  “In your head?”

  “Or yours.”

  The screen door slammed behind Dean. He didn’t bother turning around. He didn’t have to. Dean felt Trigger’s presence deep in his bones. He pressed his lips into a thin line, forcing himself not to jump up and fall into Trigger’s arms. He wasn’t sure what kind of mojo Trigger had worked on him, but Dean had his pride.

  “We need to talk,” Clint told Trigger. “Something happened at the ranger station last night.”

  That drew Dean’s attention.

  “Is Valentino all right?” Trigger asked.

  “Shook up,” Clint said. “Something paid him a visit.”

  Trigger took a seat next to Dean. Their thighs touched, and Dean had an overwhelming urge to lean into Trigger’s firm body. He tucked his hands between his knees and sat ramrod straight as the brothers talked.

  “What do you mean something?” Trigger sounded just as confused as Dean felt.

  Clint scrubbed a hand over his beard and shook his head as he stared past them, as if recalling what had happened. “I showed up at the station, and Valentino was locked in his Yukon. His tires were slashed, but it looked more like claw marks than a knife. I went inside the station, but no one was there. Only…”

  “Only what?” Dean had been unable to stop the question. Although Dean had hated his career, growing up in a family of cops and then becoming one himself meant the wheels in his brain had started turning.

  “No one was in there,” Clint said. “But I felt a presence. It was as if evil crawled over my skin and slithered down my spine.”

  “Come again?” Trigger’s blond brows furrowed.

  “It was like I’d stepped into a stew of wickedness.” Clint shrugged. “I can’t think of any other way to put it.”

  “Where’s Valentino now?” Trigger asked. He rested his hand on Dean’s knee. Dean was too engrossed in what Clint was saying to shove Trigger’s hand off him.

  “I made him come home with me. He’s at my house but is ready to go back to the station. He thinks he was just spooked from everything that’s been happening around here lately.”

  “But you don’t think that’s the case,” Dean surmised.

  “No, I don’t.” Clint looked toward the clearing.

  “Do you have any guesses?” Trigger asked.

  “None I want to share.” Clint pulled his foot from the bottom step and straightened. “Just wanted you both to keep an eye on your surroundings. Might not be anything.”

  Clint was lying through his pearly whites. Dean saw the uncertainty in his eyes. He was just as spooked. “Maybe we should check the station out in broad daylight,” he suggested. “Try to find clues, footprints, something the intruder might’ve left behind.”

  “You’re not going there,” Trigger said.

  “Afraid I’ll run?” Dean pushed to his feet. That might have been part of the reason he wanted to go, but he wasn’t going to admit that to either man.

  “I know you’ll try,” Clint said. “You’ve got that look in your eyes.”

  “What look?” Dean asked.

  Clint eyed him. “The look that says you’re plotting, Goldilocks.”

  “Where’re my pants?” Dean ignored Clint as he spoke to Trigger.

  “In the trash.” Trigger got up. “They were torn and covered in blood. They weren’t worth saving.”

  “So I’m just supposed to walk around in oversized pajama pants now?”

  Trigger smirked. “Or naked.”

  “I’ll take Walker and check the station out.” Clint spun and walked away.

  “Do you have any idea what you’re looking for?” Dean argued at Clint’s back. He needed to get away from Trigger. He also needed a chance to escape. He wasn’t sure if Trigger would keep his word and let him leave—especially since the whack job claimed Dean was pregnant.

  “I’m sure us bears can fumble through this without FBI help,” Clint said without turning around, then waved a hand above his head. “Nice try, though.”

  Dean clenched his jaw.

  Trigger snorted a laugh. “You really think we’re that dumb?”

  “Screw you,” Dean ground out as he stormed into the house.

  * * * *

  A week passed and Dean had spent every night on the couch. Trigger was at his wit’s end. No matter what he tried, his mate looked miserable. He’d tried having a lighthearted conversation, but Dean acted as if Trigger had never said a word. He tried making his mate laugh, but Dean simply sat there with a stern look on his face.

  Trigger had even tried luring Dean into bed with promises of a good time, but Dean would never leave the couch.

  His mate did, however, keep repeating one thing. That Trigger had promised to let him go. Trigger had tried to convince Dean that he was pregnant. His mate had gotten up every morning sick to his stomach, and most of those times, vomiting, but Dean gave him the same look every morning.

  A look that said Trigger was insane.

  “Fine, you win,” Trigger said that Tuesday evening. Just saying the words made his bear snarl and his stomach twist inside out. “I’ll take you to town.”

  Dean eyed him from the couch, remote in hand, a bowl of chips on his lap. “Are you serious or just fucking with me?”

  “Just fucking with you,” Trigger snarled. “I like getting someone’s hopes up, then watching their face crumble.” He stomped toward the door, keys in hand.

  Dean hopped up and set the bowl and remote aside. He hurried behind Trigger, wearing nothing but his boxers. “I need some clothes.”

  “Don’t have any that will fit you,” Trigger said with a whole lot of attitude. He was risking everything giving Dean what he wanted, but Trigger couldn’t take it anymore. Seeing his mate so unhappy ate at him. Trigger could also scent Dean’s emotions, and they smelled so pitiful, like a wounded animal that knew it would wither away and die.

  Trigger wasn’t a coldhearted bastard. Dean wasn’t his prisoner. He’d tried everything he could think of to give Dean a reason to stay, but if Dean was so hell-bent on leaving, Trigger would…his throat tightened as his chest ached.

  He didn’t want to let his mate go.

  He hurried to the clearing before anyone spotted them. Trigger’s brothers were going flip their wigs when they found out what he’d done. A few might kick his ass.

  What he was doing was unthinkable in his world, and Trigger just might let his brothers wail on him for going against every instinct he possessed.

  Dean didn’t bring up the argument about clothes again. He slipped into the passenger side of Trigger’s truck and closed the door. When Trigger got in, he scented Dean’s relief.

  “You have to promise me something.” Trigger started his truck.

  “What’s that?” Dean turned his head toward Trigger.

  “That you won’t breathe a word of our existence. There’s more at stake here, Dean. We have babies to look after, lives that depend on us.” The words tasted acrid on Trigger’s tongue. He shouldn’t be having this conversation, period.

  All he’d ever wanted was a mate, someone to call his, and a house filled with the pitter-patter of small feet and a child’s laughter. Dean was crushing that dream by leaving, by taking Trigger’s cub away from him. He doubted he would ever see Dean again.

  Until he starts swelling with your child. But Dean wasn’t showing yet, and he vehemently believed Trigger was crazier than a box of rocks for even suggesting such a thing. But what was he going to do, tie Dean to their bed for the next three months, watching what could have been love between them turn to loathing instead? Trigger had grown up with a tyrant father, a man who forced his will on his sons and anyone else he came into contact with.

  That feeling of helplessness, of hate and anger wasn’t something Trigger would wish on anyone, especially his mate. He didn’t want Dean to look at him the way Trigger had looked at his father.

  He’d rather let Dean go then make him suffer.

  The ride was silent. Trigger sat there, his mind jumbled, trying to come up with a way to make Dean see reason. Dean simply stared out the side window.

  “I’ll give you my phone number in case you need it.” Once Dean discovered he truly was pregnant, he’d need a way to get in contact with Trigger.

  “I doubt I will,” Dean said.

  Trigger tightened his fingers around the wheel until the blood fled them, leaving them stark white. “You don’t have to be an ass about this.”

  Dean turned to him, his eyes narrowed. “Please don’t tell me you just said that. You more than likely killed my partner and Sheriff Blake. You held me hostage in that hot-ass cabin, and you bit me, forcing some kind of mating heat inside of me. How the fuck am I supposed to feel? Grateful?”

  Trigger fell silent.

  When a bubble of laughter escaped Dean, Trigger glanced at him, confused. “What’s so funny?”

  “Seriously?” Dean asked. “Dude, everything about this is so whacked that I’m having a hard time not going batshit crazy. I’m sitting here mad as fuck, ready to get away from you so I can turn you and your brothers in”—Trigger growled but Dean pressed on—“and for the life of me I can’t figure out why I feel as if I’ve swallowed a big dose of depression at the thought of leaving you. Tell me you would take all that in stride.”

  Trigger slowed his truck, a kernel of hope blossoming inside him. “It’s our bond that makes you not want to leave.”

  “That’s just it!” Dean smacked his forehead. “You keep talking about things that shouldn’t exist in a normal world. Mating heat, bonding, male pregnancy.”

  “But you know the truth,” Trigger argued. “You saw Duane shift with your own eyes, and you saw me shift when that lion was about to eat your stubborn ass. You felt the heat, so why is it so hard to believe the other stuff?”

  Dean leaned forward, lowered his head, and ran his hands over his buzzed haircut. “Would you believe me if I told you unicorns were real, or that there were really leprechauns with pots of gold at the end of every rainbow?”

  “If I saw them, how could I dispute their existence?” Trigger pointed at Dean’s stomach. “Tell me you’re not questioning the appearance of that line, why you get sick every morning, and why you’re trying to eat me out of house and home.”

  “Stress does a lot of things to people, like make them sick or overeat.” Dean ran a hand over his rigid stomach. “This line is probably from poison ivy or some other reaction I had from being in the woods.”

  “You’re not that stupid,” Trigger said. “Poison ivy comes in the form of red bumps, not a faint dark line.”

  As the truck idled, the headlights breaking through the growing darkness, Dean sighed. “I’ve never been this confused, mad, sad, or hungry in my life. I feel like I’m losing my damn mind.”

  “And for the record,” Trigger said, “I didn’t kill Nolan or Blake. I wasn’t the one who put you in that cabin. I was the one who took you out of it.”

  “But Nolan is dead, isn’t he?” Dean turned those pretty, hazel eyes on Trigger, and Trigger became lost in them. He didn’t want to lie to Dean, but he didn’t trust him with the truth, either.

  “Are we heading to town or going home?” At this point, Trigger had a gut feeling he could take Dean home and reason with the human. He was confused, torn between what to do and his feelings for Trigger.

  Trigger’s head snapped toward the windshield. He studied the area lit up by the headlights. He could have sworn he saw something speed past the front of his truck.

  “I saw that, too.” Dean leaned closer to the dashboard, squinting as he slowly turned his head back and forth, looking for whatever had passed them. “What the hell was it?”

  “I don’t know.” Trigger studied the woods, as well. “But my gut is telling me to get the hell out of here.”

  Dean turned to him. “Mine, too.”

  Something slammed into the roof of the truck. Trigger reached for the door handle, but Dean grabbed his arm, tugging. “Don’t go out there.”

  Trigger stilled. “Probably just some animal.”

  But whoever or whatever had run past his truck had moved so fast that it had been nothing more than a blur. Trigger didn’t know anything in the mountains that could do that. Shifters were fast, but only as fast as their animal counterparts. Not even the wild animals who called this place home could.

  Trigger had started to put the truck in gear when the truck jerked and a loud bang echoed through the quiet woods. Dean jumped as Trigger’s heart nearly gave out. It had sounded like a shotgun, and he thought it was until the sound came again and the back of the truck lowered slightly.

  When Trigger tried to drive forward, the vehicle lurched and bounced.

  “The tires are flat.” Dean looked out the back window. “What kind of animal can flatten tires?”

  Trigger didn’t want to find out. He put the truck in Park and pulled his phone free. He dialed Clint. “I need your help,” he said when Clint answered.

  “At the ranger station. Can you call someone else? I’m not close enough to come over.”

  “I’m not at home.” Trigger continued to scan the area. The feeling that something evil was out there clenched his heart. “I’m about an hour’s drive south, have my mate with me, and something really fucking weird is going on. Someone or something just flattened my back tires.”

  “Send me your GPS coordinates,” Clint said, sounding winded, as though he was running. “I’m on my way.”

  Trigger knew this part of the mountains like the back of his hand. The ranger station was too far away. It would take Clint too long to get to them.

  But he did as Clint asked.

  He also noticed how quiet the woods were. Too quiet. It was as if everything around them held its collective breath to see what would happen next.

  “I think we should just sit tight.” Dean turned in his seat and looked out the back window. “Neither of us has a weapon. We’ll be targets to whoever is out there.”

  “I am a weapon,” Trigger snarled. “And fuck if I’m just gonna sit here and wait for whoever it is to attack us.”

  Dean grabbed Trigger’s arm and yanked him so hard, Trigger fell into his mate.

  “Whoever it is wants you to go out there,” Dean snapped. “Can’t you tell? This is a setup. He or she is trying to lure you from the truck.”

  Trigger straightened. “Could it be your buddies?”

  Dean shook his head. “First of all, I don’t have any buddies. Second, they’d be shouting for you to get out if it was FBI.” He looked Trigger in the eyes. “And no human I know is that fast.”

  He had a point. “Fine, we’ll wait it out.”

  But Trigger’s instincts told him they weren’t dealing with anything human, or shifter for that matter. He just hoped Clint got there before whatever it was showed itself.

  Trigger wasn’t easy to scare, wasn’t used to tucking tail, but the fear emanating off Dean gave him pause.

  And truth be told, the eerie feeling of evil made him sit tight until the cavalry arrived.

  Chapter Five

  Clint slowed his truck when he spotted something lying in the road ahead of them.

  “Is that a wounded animal?” Valentino asked. He sat forward, gripping the dashboard as he squinted.

  “Looks like it,” Walker said from the passenger side. Clint wasn’t too happy that Valentino had to sit in the middle, squished close to him, but he wasn’t leaving the human behind when he had no clue what was going on. Valentino was tall, but bony, and his elbow kept digging into Clint’s side.

  “Just go around it.” Valentino sat back, his elbow nudging Clint. “We have to get to Trigger.”

  Clint started to go around, but the closer they drew to the lump in the road, the more he realized it wasn’t a wounded animal.

  “Shit!” Clint smashed his foot into the brakes and hopped out.

  Walker was right beside him. “What the fuck?”

  Clint hunched down. It was a human. His short brown hair was matted to his head, and he wore a plaid, red shirt with the sleeves rolled up, khaki shorts, white socks, and hiking boots. A backpack was still stuck to his back.

  “A hiker,” Valentino said. “But what in the hell got him?”

  Clint grabbed one of the straps of the backpack and yanked. The guy turned over. His eyes were wide, as if he died in horror—which he had since his throat was gouged so deep Clint saw his spine.

  “Where’s the blood?” Walker asked. “Shouldn’t there be a bunch of it under him? He’s pale, too, like it was drained right out of him.”

  Clint had noticed that, too. The guy’s shirt had only a little blood on it, and none was on the ground below him. “I haven’t a fucking clue.” Clint scratched at his jaw. “He can’t have been out here long. Trigger would’ve seen him. He didn’t mention anything about a dead body in the road.”