Polar Bared
Authors: Eve Langlais
Tags: #paranormal, #romance, #second, #chance, #military, #soldier, #wounded, #hero, #polar, #bear, #shapeshifter, #series, #humor
By
Eve Langlais
(Kodiak Point, Book #3)
Copyright © August 2014, Eve Langlais
Cover Art by Aubrey Rose © August 2014
Edited by Devin Govaere
Copy Edited by Amanda L. Pederick
Produced in Canada
Published by Eve Langlais
1606 Main Street, PO Box 151
Stittsville, Ontario, Canada, K2S1A3
ISBN: 978 1927 459 59 1
Polar Bared
is a work of fiction and the characters, events and dialogue found within the story are of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, either living or deceased, is completely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced or shared in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including but not limited to digital copying, file sharing, audio recording, email and printing without permission in writing from the author.
What’s a bear to do when a human has a polar-izing effect?
When Vicky accidentally slides into the side of a polar bear, she doesn’t expect to fall in love. Eaten yes, perhaps used as a chew toy, but become the object of a bear’s affection and lust?
Crazy! Almost as crazy as the fact the polar bear turns out to be a man. A sexy man. A man who growls and roars and does everything he can to chase her away.
Only to come back.
Gene has only one thing on his mind, vengeance, until Vicky crashes into his life.
After the pain and betrayal he suffered in the war, all he wants is vengeance against the brothers who left him behind. But he’s confused when, instead of wanting to punish him for his evil acts, they offer him forgiveness.
As if that weren’t annoying enough, the cutest geek he ever met—with caramel-kissed skin covering a lush, rounded figure and wearing the sexiest dark-rimmed glasses—won’t leave him alone. Or more like, he can’t seem to stop following her. And it isn’t just because someone is out to hurt her.
He wants her. But does he want her more than vengeance?
“Are your men in position?” Forget hello or niceties, he asked st
raight out.
“Yeah. We’re here, and it’s fucking cold.”
“I’m sure the fee is more than worth a little discomfort.”
A chuckle rattled through the earpiece of his phone. “It’s definitely a warm incentive. Me and the boys are already planning a hot vacation on the beach.”
“Only once the task is completed. How long until you do the job?” In other words, how long until he could enact the next phase of his plan?
“Depends. We’ve just finished setting up camp. The boys and I will do a sweep of the surrounding area over the next few days. Get a feel for the terrain and what we can do.”
“Remember, I want it to look like an accident.” It was very important that no one suspect foul play.
“I know. I know. No worries. It won’t be hard. Once we lure the target out to a secluded spot, we’ll act.”
“No one must suspect.”
“Rest assured, they won’t. This isn’t our first hit. I’ll contact you once the target is eliminated.”
The line disconnected, and he stared at the disposable phone. Soon, real soon, the person plaguing him and his plans would suffer a final fate, leaving one less loose thread to worry about.
Run, run as fast as he could, but no matter how far and how long he fled, Boris’ damning words rang through Gene’s head.
“I forgive you.”
The nerve of the clod-footed moose he used to call friend. As if Boris had anything to forgive. If anything, the clumsy moose should have begged Gene for forgiveness. But no. Just like everything else in his life, he didn’t cooperate. Instead, Boris apologized and absolved him.
Who the fuck did that?
Gene had done bad things.
Really
bad things. He’d intentionally set out to hurt the men he once loved as brothers. He’d generated terror and pain and fear among the people living in Kodiak Point all in the name of vengeance, sweet vengeance, which wasn’t exactly a warm flannel blanket on a cold winter’s night, but it kept a man’s spirit burning through even the darkest despair.
By all rights, Boris—good ol’ cold and calculating Boris, who never hesitated to shoot when they’d faced enemy troops—should have ended Gene’s life back on that impromptu battleground. Gene had intentionally baited him and trapped the moose into giving him the one-on-one fight he desired.
They’d slugged it out, the satisfying smack of his fists hitting flesh easing some of the bubbling anger inside.
At last, I will avenge myself on one of my brothers who left me to die in that cesspool overseas.
He’d meant to kill Boris. Or he thought he did until a lovely fox named Jan pointed a gun at him and begged him to spare her lover’s life. On the verge of winning, he hesitated and didn’t deliver the killing blow.
What the fuck?
Where inside his abused body did that shred of decency and morality come from? It bubbled past the molten lava of his betrayal and stayed his hand.
This emerging conscience made him question what was truly better. Kill Boris and live another day hating life? Or give the vixen what she wanted and, with the moose as his executioner, finally allow himself to slip into oblivion where perhaps the nightmares wouldn’t follow?
What I wouldn’t give for peace.
But Boris didn’t finish him off. Boris showed him mercy.
Argh. Fuck. Bastard.
I hate him even more than ever.
And, at the same time, fiercely loved the goddamned prick.
Love. Hate. The emotions chased him from Kodiak Point, chased him miles and miles and miles until he took refuge in a shack he’d long ago claimed as his own.
He couldn’t term it a home, but it kept the harsh elements off his clothing, bedroll, and the food he kept stashed here—most of it stolen. Apparently he’d missed the chapter in the villain’s handbook that explained it was hard to hold down a job when plotting and executing revenge. So he resorted to pilfering what he needed and hunting to supplement his diet.
As he stared around at the meager surroundings, he couldn’t help but think,
This is pathetic.
And little better than the prison he’d escaped. But at least he could leave anytime he wanted, no locks holding him here, and he didn’t have to worry every time the door opened that death might arrive.
However, this little shack, hidden amidst the ice and snow of the Arctic Circle, wasn’t exactly a safe haven.
I might still die yet.
Several of his recent actions had placed a really large bulls-eye on his furry, white ass. Gene had done the unforgivable. He’d intentionally acted against
his
plan. It wasn’t enough that Gene had walked out without a word of where he was going, no longer interested in the plot to overthrow Reid and take over the clan at Kodiak Point. Gene had actively fought against
his
army.
That would not go over well at all if the one who’d dragged him from the desert ever found out. And
he
would.
He
always did.
Gene feared few people. He could count them on one hand—the devil when he came to collect his due, his mother who would have skinned him alive for what he’d done, and
him
.
If the devil was the world’s scariest demon, then
he
was his brother. An enemy like no other. Gene doubted his former army buddies had ever encountered anyone with a core of evil so great, so encompassing that it was a wonder the very foliage didn’t wilt under
his
feet.
If Gene ever ran into
him
again—not intentionally that was for sure—he had no doubt he’d die. Probably painfully, unlike the merciful and quick death Boris could have given him.
Stupid, rotten jerk.
Forgiveness. As if. Just for that, Gene would return, bigger and badder than ever. Eventually. Maybe. But not right yet. First he needed some time to himself, a moment to regroup and plan.
Also known as getting wasted out of his fucking mind, sunbathing on an ice shelf and lazing around until the anger became too much again.
Or until someone literally crashed into him and forced him to face reality.
Base camp resembled a mini tent city, albeit not one on a grassy plain or a sand-packed desert. Here on the northern tip of Canada’s Northwest Territories, the vistas were white, white, with varying shades of white. But what could Vicky expect when she’d traveled thousands of miles to the Arctic Circle, chasing after a dream and a new start?
In the great north, civilization was but an industrial dream. The land remained virtually untouched. The air pure. There was no smog to irritate every breath or traffic noise to pollute the pristine quiet. No high-rises or roads to mar the landscape.
Majestic peaks loomed in the distance, stranded icebergs with white, snowy peaks. The fantastically curved and sometimes sheer bluffs reflected the striated glassier sheen of ice. But, apart from these, or the dark gray of the sea’s edge, the only other color came from manmade sources.
Bright orange and yellow weatherproof pop-up abodes were laid out in straight lines a few hundred yards from the water. Over a dozen wind and inclement weatherproofed bubbles, each boasting an intrepid explorer. Or, in Vicky’s case, a novice researcher.
Snowmobiles, and the sledges they pulled, were parked less neatly on the outskirts of this temporary town, a terrifying mode of transportation for a girl used to climate-controlled cars.
While the camp might boast a plan when it came to tents, once those temporary homes planted themselves in a spot, detritus sprang up around them. Solar panels abounded, soaking in as much of the sun’s rays as possible, which wasn’t much given the few hours this area got this early in spring. The batteries charged by the sun’s rays would in turn power laptops and lights, as well as a myriad other small items that made tent life a little easier to bear. Which, for this city girl, was very welcome.
Vicky had never known what amenities she took for granted until she didn’t have access to them or found them restricted. Hot showers? Those happened on a rotational basis with everyone in the camp, and they were timed. Get in, get clean, get dry—before you froze your butt off.
Bathroom time? Highly embarrassing for a girl who didn’t even like using public washrooms. It took several days of red cheeks and clenched cheeks before she managed to get over some of her phobias.
While the interior of the tents might prove toasty, stepping outside took adjusting for a girl whose previous idea of a harsh winter included a few inches of snow on the ground and temperatures low enough to make the breath steam.
Layers and layers of cold weather gear kept the body warm, but breathing was another thing. She’d never encountered a frigidness that made a deep inhalation burn. The air was so cold up here. Cold, crisp, and fresh. Well, fresh until you entered the main living area where various cooking scents, smoke, and the general odor of people mixed together to form a unique perfume.
However, all of the rough living was worth it. Vicky was having an adventure. By herself.
With no one to tell.
But she was okay with that. Most of the time.
When she’d signed on to the expedition as a graduation present to herself, she’d held high hopes of meeting like-minded individuals and, as the brochure stated, ‘forming bonds and friendships that will last a life time through an adventure shared’.