Page 2 of A Rebel's Shot

As he stood, he pulled an arrow from his quiver, drawing the string back as the bear’s meaty claws dug into the side of the platform. This beast had to be a record if he could reach the tree stand nine feet up the tree’s trunk.

The stand tipped with the bear’s weight. The screeching of metal nails yanking from the tree sent a million spiders racing down Tiikâan’s spine. The snap of the supports fired loudly into the forest, and he toppled into open air.

He slammed into the ground, his bow tumbling away from him. His diaphragm spasmed. He opened his mouth, but no air came in. Before he could recover, the slash of claws swept his side, throwing him like a rag doll across the muddy ground.

He scrambled to get his legs beneath him. His hands and feet slipped, and he couldn’t gain purchase. The bear was on him again, the stench from its breath thick in Tiikâan’s nose. Teeth sank into his bicep, yanking him up enough to get his knees beneath him.

With a shout, he pounded his fist into the bear’s nose. The bear dropped him, shook its head, and roared. Tiikâaan scrambled back, desperate to put space between him and those teeth. As the bear charged, Tiikâan grabbed his sidearm from his belt. The force of the giant grizzly ramming him knocked him back a dozen feet.

He fired, but the bear keptcoming.

Fired again.

It still didn’t stop.

He unloaded the magazine into the beast. When it teetered and collapsed two feet from him, Tiikâan tripped away from the animal.

Heart trying to pound out of his rib cage, he hid behind a cluster of scrawny willows, his gaze glued to the bear. His hands shook violently as he reloaded, dropping several bullets that disappeared into the moss. He left them there. No way was he taking his eyes off the bear.

The wind rushed through the clearing, rustling the golden-tipped fur on the bear’s back and bending the treetops. A snap cracked in the forest behind him. Tiikâan whipped around. His head spun as his adrenaline spiked.

He scanned the trees, cursing the steady rain that blurred his vision and his pulse’sboom-boom-boomdrowning out all other sounds.

Tear down the bait. Get the bear. Don’t die.

He didn’t need to wait around for another predator to slink in.

Holstering his gun, he weaved through the forest along the edge of the clearing. He wasn’t ready to get up close and personal with the animal yet.

Grabbing the fifty-gallon drum holding the bait, he tipped it to dump out the mess of dog food, restaurant fryer grease, and maple syrup. Sharp pain sliced up his arm, and the barrel clattered to the ground.

Now that the adrenaline ebbed, his bicep throbbed. He cringed as he pulled his right arm from his blood-drenched jacket sleeve. Bile rose at the first look of torn flesh and flannel.

A branch cracking to his left snapped his gaze to the thick woods. Enough wasting time. Between the bear, the barrel of bait, and his own wound bleeding, his hunting spot had just become a predator’s heaven.

TWO

Merritt stared out the window of her dad’s office at the expanse of ice-capped blue ocean that stretched farther than she could even imagine. Any other time she’d probably find the view beautiful. Now the stark, lifelessness magnified her despair.

Barrow, Alaska.

More like barren. Empty. Just like her heart.

Her dad was gone.

Dead.

And his last disjointed voicemail left her doubting the timing of his death was a coincidence. She closed her eyes, hugging herself tighter as grief, fear, and disbelief swamped her. His last words hadn’t stopped replaying since she first listened to the message three weeks before.

“Merri, don’t trust anyone.”

She’d woken up with the notification on her phone. Her desert-heated skin chilling at her dad’s troubled voice that cut in and out. Now, here she was at the top of the world, freezing andfloundering.

She wasn’t cut out for this. Why couldn’t she stay at the refugee camp helping those poor, orphaned children? Why’d her family drama have to yank her from the work she loved again?

Wow.

Selfish much?

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