Page 2 of Hunny and the Bear (Bearly Yours #1)

Two

T he last thing Henry ‘Tank’ Sinclair expected to find on his nightly stroll through the woods was a she-wolf attacking a rabbit shifter. And he damned sure hadn’t anticipated knocking the large wolf into some nearby vegetation like a pesky fly, his every instinct demanding he protect the small, wounded creature at his feet.

It was odd—Tank never felt compelled to protect anything that wasn’t his family or part of his bear clan. And yet, he knew if that wolf struck again, he’d rip the canine to shreds without a moment’s hesitation. In fact, as he inhaled, drawing the two warring shifter scents deep into his lungs, his claws ached to inflict even more damage on the damned beast.

What was a wolf shifter doing in bear territory anyway, preying on a rabbit shifter? Every supernatural creature knew that rabbit shifters, along with other small woodland shifters, were relatively harmless and, by nature, submissive, though there were always some that broke the mold, being more dominant.

At least he’d arrived in time to stop the wolf from finishing what she’d started.

As an enforcer for his brother’s bear clan, it was Tank’s duty to wander the edge of their territory at night to hunt for intruders. Typically, he didn’t find much of anything—his clan was located deep in the woods, more than an hour away from ‘civilization,’ and although the occasional hiker wandered into their domain, they usually fled in terror after he charged at them, roaring loudly for the entire forest to hear.

It was hilarious watching the humans pale in fright, and scaring them had the added bonus of spreading rumors in nearby towns that the woods weren’t safe, meaning fewer hikers to deal with. The fewer people, the better. In his opinion, anyway.

He couldn’t stand people; humans especially. They were just all so … talkative . That was part of the reason he enjoyed being an enforcer—wandering the forest daily for hours left little room for chatter among his clan, and when brute force was needed, Tank was called in to handle difficult situations.

Tank looked down at the blood staining his claws, and then in the direction he’d tossed the wolf. His eyes narrowed suspiciously when all he noticed were a few limp bushes.

Where was the wolf?

He moved his large body protectively over the little bunny as he scanned the perimeter. No wolf in sight, and he heard nothing to indicate the beast was lurking nearby. It seemed it had tucked tail and ran as soon as he’d intervened.

That’s just as well , he thought, moving back a step to stare down at the shifter he’d just saved. Covered in blood, the sleeping rabbit let out a pitiful whine, the same sound that had drawn Tank’s attention to this location only moments ago. The sound stirred something within him, instinct demanding he pick the creature up and nurse it back to health.

The thought was laughable. No one would ever describe Tank as nurturing . Quite the opposite. Brutal, easily irritated, and always quiet, he wasn’t the type of male to play nurse for anyone, let alone a stranger.

What was it about this shifter?

He leaned down, his muzzle drawing so close to the rabbit he almost brushed against her fur. He could tell it was a female from instinct alone. Closing his eyes, Tank inhaled again, the scents of lavender, vanilla, and … honey filling his nose. Despite the coppery smell of blood, Tank’s eyes nearly rolled back in delight at the rabbit’s delicious scent.

He loved honey—and his obsession with the treat was a long-running joke among the rest of his clan, though normally no one brought it up, not to his face at least—unless they wanted to get their skull cracked. He knew his love of honey was a horrible stereotype, but it was too irresistible for him to care. Like a glutton hungry for more, Tank dragged in another lungful of the rabbit’s scent.

If his true mate hadn’t died years ago, right before they’d both reached adulthood, he’d wonder if this female was his. It would explain his urge to protect her, and his fascination with her smell. Ever since Cassandra had died, though, nothing held his attention for long, and nothing was ever fascinating anymore.

That happened a lot with true mates—when one half of your soul died, so did you. Either physically or metaphorically. Because Tank hadn’t properly claimed his mate, he hadn’t been tempted to end his life to join her in the next—but he’d never been right after her passing.

His nose twitched as another scent, barely there, intruded.

The female was pregnant.

He reared back onto his hind legs, staring down at the rabbit in a new light. Maybe that explained his odd behavior—as a dominant bear, he’d feel inclined to protect a pregnant female in need, especially a submissive.

Not wanting to waste more time, Tank fell back onto all fours, leaning down and opening his maw wide. He scooped up the rabbit’s limp body into his mouth, careful not to puncture her delicate skin, before he began moving back to his cabin. Her tail teased one side of his mouth, and her head dangled from the other, but this was the only way to carry her while ensuring they were both protected.

If that wolf came back and he was in his human form, it would only take one bite to snap his neck.

Opening his telepathic connection with Murphy, the clan Alpha and his brother, Tank bit out, Spotted a wolf shifter on patrol .

He wasn’t fond of talking to people in general, but for shifters, communicating with one’s Alpha telepathically was a convenient tool. Luckily, he could close the connection at any time, and it didn’t extend to other members of the clan, otherwise he knew the rest of his family would harass him every hour of the day.

There was a brief stirring in Tank’s mind before his brother’s deep cadence filled his head. You think it was a member of the Moon Rose pack?

Tank nearly snarled in irritation at the mention of that dumbfuck Jason, and his pack of nearly rabid wolves. The only reason he kept silent was because of the unconscious female he carried. He didn’t want her to wake in his mouth and harm herself if she struggled to break free.

Might have been , Tank answered. The wolf was attacking a rabbit shifter on the edge of our territory. I intervened .

Good. We don’t want any unnecessary bloodshed on our lands . There was a brief pause before Murphy asked, Did you send the shifters on their way with a warning to keep their dispute off our territory?

Tank hesitated, keeping his eyes on his surroundings as he rounded a corner. Not exactly. He moved quickly, passing over a fallen tree trunk and heading deeper into the heart of the woods.

What does that mean, Tank? You didn’t kill them, did you? I know you’re rough, but surely—

No, I didn’t kill them. Tank rolled his eyes. Well, I don’t think so. The rabbit was already wounded. The wolf was going in for the kill so I frightened her off.

Then what does ‘not exactly’ mean? Murphy asked.

Tank sighed, his body relaxing as he caught sight of familiar claw markings along the bark of several trees he passed. He was nearly home now. Good, he needed to shift and look after the female.

Tank? Murphy grumbled. Answer me .

The rabbit is unconscious . Tank grimaced as he stepped onto his driveway, gravel digging uncomfortably into the pads of his paws. The small log cabin stood out impressively among the forest. Two stories in total and with a porch wrapping around his first floor, his home was his haven away from everyone.

And now he’d brought a stranger into his den. One that smelled like heaven but would likely drive him insane as soon as she began harping in his ear. He wasn’t used to company.

Did you leave it where you found it? His Alpha’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

What? Tank asked, his voice heavy with confusion.

The rabbit shifter. Did you leave it where you found it? Murphy repeated irritably.

No .

Murphy huffed. What did you—

Tank slammed his mind closed, effectively blocking his older brother out from communicating with him any further. Murphy was a stubborn bastard, though, and it wouldn’t take long before his cell phone began ringing incessantly.

Or the bastard would just show up. Actually, that seemed far more likely.

Making it to his porch, Tank lowered his head toward the first step, carefully placing his wounded companion down. And then he shifted, the sensation of skin stretching and shrinking accompanied by the cracking of bones as his body returned to his human form. As Tank was thirty-two years old and had been shifting since he was a cub, the transition from bear to man was seamless, and it only took two seconds at most.

Now naked as the day he was born, Tank scooped up the rabbit into his arms, casting a worried glance over the small thing as he moved up the steps and into his home. He never locked the door, but the only fresh scent was his, so he pushed confidently inside, closing the door behind him.

It was late, the darkness of the forest peeking through the vast windows of his cabin. Warm lighting poured down from the ceiling fan, though, and a lamp in the far corner illuminated the rest of the living room. The cabin was cozy; the main floor boasted the living room, a small dining room, and a large kitchen.

The bathroom and his bedroom were both upstairs.

Beelining for the massive leather couch, Tank placed his companion onto a cushion. He checked her breathing—steady— along with her wounds and her vitals. A front leg appeared broken, and there were a few puncture wounds on her back and side. That was all. She just needed to shift back into her human form and the wounds would heal instantly.

Until then, he didn’t want her bleeding out.

Pushing away from the couch, Tank moved to the stairs to slip on some clothes. He took them two at a time, reaching the upstairs landing. A balcony railing attached to the stairs made up a half-wall for his bedroom, allowing him to look down and observe a majority of the first floor whenever he wanted. He’d built it this way for two reasons: he lived alone, so he didn’t need an extra room; and it wasn’t a cozy house for anyone but him, so he almost never had visitors and didn’t require privacy.

Except now.

Frowning, he walked into his closet and grabbed a T-shirt and jeans from his dresser, changed, and went back downstairs to the kitchen. In a cabinet, he found some gauze, hydrogen peroxide, and a few hand towels. Snatching it all up, he filled a small bowl with warm water and returned to his little rabbit.

She hadn’t moved from where he’d left her, still out cold. How long would she be unconscious? Twenty minutes had passed, at least, since he’d found her. He refused to believe she’d sustained a major head wound; he couldn’t see any bleeding or obvious trauma.

Did she have a concussion?

“Wake up, bunny,” Tank uttered dryly, wincing when his vocal chords strained from both disuse and a long-ago injury. He’d had most of his throat shredded a few years back during an attack on his clan, the damage so extensive he’d actually scarred, and the chords had never quite healedentirely, even after shifting. Luckily, he’d survived.

He couldn’t say the same for the fucker who’d wounded him.

“Up,” he repeated roughly, sighing heavily when all he got in return was a brief tremble from one of her whiskers. He was used to people doing what he said as soon as he said it, usually out of fear. His harsh voice and massive appearance had that effect on people.

Now a bunny shifter couldn’t even rouse herself at the sound of his voice. She had to have scented him by now, even subconsciously. So why wasn’t she up and quaking in her fur?

Hesitantly, he sat down beside her, unsure of what to do as he set his medical supplies on the coffee table in front of him. He should have just called his mom, a doctor for the clan, and told her to swing by. She’d be of more help than he would.

But for some reason, he didn’t want anyone near his companion while she was so vulnerable—not even his mother. Unfortunately, that just left him to tend to the rabbit. Reaching for the roll of gauze, Tank unfurled a small section, ripping the piece free from the rest. Then, carefully, he lifted the broken front leg—

The rabbit’s head shot forward, small blunt teeth biting down on his hand and piercing the skin.

Tank growled in outrage at the sharp sting of pain, yanking his hand back in surprise as the bunny leaped quickly to the furthest end of the couch, turned in his direction, and hissed. Her nose twitched and her whiskers trembled as she opened her mouth, hissing again in warning.

The threat was so ridiculous, a faint urge to laugh bubbled up from within him for the first time in years.

Just what had he gotten himself into?