Page 6 of Hunny and the Bear

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’dbuilt 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. Heshould 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?

Three

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