Page 25 of Bad Blood Bear

“Can’t you see what she’s been through? That fucker didn’t tell her anything, Flynn. Or get consent. He left her on her own, scared and confused and halfway to rogue. And then you go and tell her she’s going to die.”

“What the hell do you want me to say?” Flynn said. He sounded a little sorry, though. “This isn’t Disneyland. Being a shifter can be brutal as hell, and being part of this crew is worse. Any sugar-coating you try and put on this is going to wash off about two minutes after she sees what we’re really like.”

Lissa sat up. She still felt a little lightheaded, but the lion-man was right.

“It’s fine,” she said. “I’ve been living on the streets since I was sixteen—except for a couple of years with the bear people. I’m not expecting tea and cookies and prom dates—I’m perfectly aware that life sucks and it’s not pretty. You make the best of it. You fight. Or you crawl into a bottle or a syringe and die.”

Flynn said, “Well, we’ve got the bottles, but we try not to die.” He came around the couch with a bottle of whiskey, and plunked three chunky glasses on the coffee table. He poured a dollop of whiskey into each one, and shoved one toward Lissa. He took the second and handed the last one to Tank. “I don’t like losing my people. It offends me.”

He sat down opposite Lissa and propped his feet on the coffee table. Tank hovered until Flynn said, “For God’s sake, sit somewhere. I hate it when you loom.”

Tank perched himself on the edge of the couch Lissa was sitting on.

Lissa took a sip of whiskey and looked over at Flynn, startled. She was no judge of fine spirits, but this was ridiculously smooth and tasty.

He grinned at her and raised his glass slightly, as if in a toast.

“So, what do you mean, your people?” she asked. “Since when do I belong to you?”

Flynn took a sip of whiskey. “Okay. I suck at this leader thing, so here it is. Shifters: the Cliff Notes,” he said. “Listen up, babe, because I’ll say this more than once, but the more often I have to say it, the more the claws are involved.”

Tank growled at him. “What the fuck? She can’t defend herself.”

Flynn cut his eyes to Tank. Despite the sense of humor, the whiskey, and his apparent lack of ego, Lissa could tell he was not somebody to seriously fuck with. And she’d seen the claws—they could kill her with one swipe.

“All the more reason for her to follow the rules, then,” Flynn said.

Tank growled again, softer. She could see he still felt responsible for her and wanted to protect her. That was reassuring, but not if he got into fights with Flynn over it. The man was a lion, for God’s sake. She’d seen Brother Damien’s bear, and he was no match for that.

Flynn ignored Tank’s subvocal objections and turned back to Lissa.

“Rule One. I’m the alpha. In shifter land, that means I own this territory—all hundred and sixty acres of it—and I’m in charge here. What I say goes. Deal with it.”

“Rule Two. This is my crew, such as it is. Most shifter crews are one species, but this is a mixed crew: Lion, grizzly, jaguar, snow leopard, asshole panther, and a couple more who come around now and then and can’t fucking decide if they’re staying or going. I’m responsible for everyone. Eventually we’re going to have to get jobs and make some money, but for now, if you need anything, you come to me or Tank. Nobody here goes without.”

That surprised Lissa. She’d been in a few crews on the streets, and most of the leaders didn’t give a shit whether you starved or not.

“Rule Three. Don’t fuck with the rest of the crew—at least, not until you can shift and defend yourself. This crew is fucked up. We went through some bad shit together, and none of us are right in the head. At the moment, you’re not either, so no need to feel superior. But it means we have issues, bad days, and hair-trigger tempers. We fight and bloody each other up. Deal with it. And when tempers are high, stick with Tank or me so you don’t get killed.”

Well, that wasn’t awesome, but it wasn’t so different from some of the crews she’d run with on the street, either. Scary guys, bad tempers, and too many fights. She’d learned to stick with her boyfriend or anyone else she could trust, and not get caught in the crossfire. She could deal with this, if she had to.

“Rule Four. Shifters are a secret. This should actually have been number one, because the first rule of being a shifter is don’t fucking tell anybody. If humans find out about us, bad shit will happen, and if you’re the one who makes it happen, the Shifter Council will put you down, and either kill anyone you tell, or erase their memories. There are exceptions, but you don’t need to know those right now. Just keep your mouth shut.”

“Shifter Council?” Lissa said. “Shifters have a government?”

“Fuck, yeah,” Flynn said. “They make the laws for shifters and handle any problems the crews can’t. Hot tip: don’t make any epic problems. Because I do not want the Council all up in our business. And trust me, neither do you.”

That wasn’t so different from being on the street, either. You didn’t want to be the one bringing the cops or the social workers down on your crew. It never ended well.

“Rule Five,” Flynn went on. This guy had a lot of rules. “You don’t leave this territory—hell, you don’t leave this clearing—without me or Tank, unless I say you can. From what I hear, your bear is a mess and you can’t control her. Refer to Rule Four if you can’t figure out why this is a problem as far as you being in public around humans.

“Rule Six. You’ll work with Tank to try to bring your bear out of hiding and learn to control her. Otherwise, Rule Number Five becomes permanent. Have another drink while I call in the crew to meet you.”

Lissa obediently took another swallow of whiskey while Flynn walked to the door. This stuff was amazing. Tank was watching her with an intensity that was making her uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry Flynn’s so…Flynn,” he said quietly. “He’s not so bad, really. You’ll get used to him.”

She grimaced. “Trust me, I’ve been around worse. Some of the crews I ran with on the street…well, I stuck close to whatever boyfriend I was with, and kept my head down. This isn’t the first time I’ve hung around with a bunch of short-tempered fucked-up killers who I couldn’t tell anybody about. And most of the time, the rest of the crew didn’t care whether I had enough to eat or a decent place to sleep. Sometimes my boyfriends didn’t, either.”