Page 22 of Bad Blood Alpha

“It’s pouring,” she said. “And there’s a big-ass bear in the way.”

The jaguar gave Kira a contemptuous look and leaped gracefully over the bear onto the porch. She Changed into a lithe, slender woman with long black hair.

Oh, fine. Leaps tall grizzlies in a single bound. It’s a bird. It’s a plane. It’s Supercat.

Flynn stepped up to the porch, digging his fingers into his hair and tugging it in frustration. Damn, Kira thought, that was one big bear—Flynn’s head only came up to the thing’s shoulder. It was still glowing with some kind of magic, too.

Flynn stared the bear down. “Don’t make me go lion and bitch-slap you too,” he said. “I already got shot tonight, and I’m in no mood.”

The bear—Tank—took a step back as if in surprise, and then stretched his neck out and nosed Flynn’s bullet wound, snuffling.

“It’s fine,” Flynn said. “But if you’d back off and let me and Princess get out of the goddamn rain, that would be fucking fantastic. Nobody here is going to hurt Lissa.”

That sounded reassuring, until he added, “The crazy part of this crew is all in the woods.”

Awesome.

“Except you,” the jaguar said to Flynn, wringing out her hair. She jerked her chin toward Kira. “And the jury’s still out on her.”

The bear turned his enormous head and stared at Kira. She stepped out of the truck—getting immediately soaked by buckets of rain—and held her hands up, palms out. “Um…I come in peace?”

Except for all the weapons hidden on her person. Hopefully, he couldn’t see those. Or smell them.

The bear gave a disbelieving huff, but Flynn smacked his shoulder and he backed away from the porch steps, still hugging the rail.

Poised to draw her knives if necessary, Kira squelched across the yard and walked up the porch steps. Flynn stayed between her and the bear, which was both reassuring (he was willing to protect her) and…not. (He still thought Tank might attack.)

For a minute she felt bad about him using himself as a shield for her, but hey, this was his crew. If he couldn’t keep them in line, he deserved to get bitten. And anyway, throwing his body between her and bears with four-inch claws and paws the size of dinner plates was his job, wasn’t it? At least…it had been, once upon a time.

The entryway to the cabin had a clothes pegs along one wall, hung with jackets and shirts of all sizes, with a shelf underneath holding folded-up sweats and a stack of fluffy towels, black and maroon randomly mixed together. Below that was a jumbled mess of shoes and boots.

Jasmin grabbed a towel and tossed one to Kira. “Here you go, Princess,” she said.

Kira rolled her eyes. “Don’t you start.”

Jasmin just snorted and toweled herself off, dabbing at a couple of her deeper cuts to soak up the last of the blood.

“Nice towels,” Kira said, wiping off her face and neck. They were—fluffy and soft and absorbent. And in nice practical colors. “You don’t even have to worry about bloodstains.”

Jasmin gave her a feral grin. “That’s the point.”

They purposely bought towels in colors that didn’t show blood? “How often to you all bleed each other?”

“What’s the matter, Princess? Scared of a fight?” Jasmin asked.

Kira slid a knife out of her right sleeve, tossed it in the air, caught it again, and made it vanish back up her sleeve. “I just like to know who I’m dealing with.”

That got a real grin, and a shrug. Jasmin snagged an oversized flannel shirt off the pegboard and slid it on. It came down almost to her knees. “What’s Saturday night without a brawl? Just because you already had yours, you shouldn’t begrudge the rest of us.” She eyed Kira speculatively. “Careless of you to get Flynn shot, though.”

Flynn. He hadn’t followed them inside. Kira went to the door and saw him sitting on the top step of the porch, getting rained on. He’d coaxed the leopard out from under the porch and had his arm slung over its back, his big hand ruffling the fur on its neck. He was talking softly to the cat, who still tensed at every rumble of thunder, every flash of lightning.

This was not what she’d expected from the badass Bad Bloods.

She heard Jasmin come up behind her. “What’s with the leopard?” Kira asked.

“PTSD,” Jasmin said brusquely. “From one of his Special Ops missions. Mortar fire, destruction, trauma, death. Thunder and lightning still freak him out.”

“Oh,” Kira said softly. Flynn’s kindness to those he cared about was another thing she hadn’t expected. Not from a Lion Guard. Their training was harsh, and they despised cowardice. She’d heard that in the Guard, those who “couldn’t handle combat stress” had been drummed out in disgrace.

Maybe he really had left his past behind. Maybe he couldn’t be who she needed.

Maybe he didn’t want to.

“Everybody has their issues, Princess,” Jasmin said. “Here. Toss these out to Tank and Lissa, would you?”

She held out more dry towels.

At the other end of the porch, the bear had turned into a pro-wrestler-sized, very hot, very naked man. Lissa, a petite dark-haired woman, was perched on the porch rail next to him, snuggled into his chest. Their heads were together, foreheads touching as they talked softly.

They obviously loved each other deeply. It sent a pang through Kira. Nobody had ever loved her like that. And, if she fulfilled her mission and mated with Flynn, nobody ever would. Her gaze strayed to his strong, muscled back, and the obvious affection in the way he comforted the leopard, shoring him up with his own strength.

“Earth to Princess,” Jasmin said. When Kira didn’t respond, she shook her head, huffed, and pushed past her to lean out the door. “Bib Bear! Incoming!”

Bib Bear? They called a bear that size Bib Bear? Yikes.

Jasmin tossed the towels in his direction. Tank plucked them out of the air without looking away from Lissa. “Thanks,” he rumbled.

“De nada.” Then she glanced at Kira. “You gonna stand there all night salivating over Flynn’s muscles, or are you going to come inside and make yourself useful?”