Polar Bared (4 page)

It took a few minutes of digging around in her pack, but Vicky located her satellite phone. State-of-the-art, guaranteed to work in even the toughest conditions—or so the salesman assured her. She’d tested it out a few times before the trip. In populated areas.

Out here in the arctic? Yeah, it didn’t quite work as advertised.

“Satellite, my butt,” she muttered, looking at the no-service box that popped up on the screen. She held it up in the air. No change. She walked to one end of the shelf then the other, holding it aloft, shaking it, cursing it, and at one point, throwing it at the cliff face. Cursing again as she scrabbled after it on her hands and knees, one hand holding her glasses in place as she searched for it among the cracks and bumps it landed among.

No matter what she did, the damned thing wouldn’t give her a single bar. Not one.

“Is it so much to ask that something goes right in my life?” she yelled to the sky. “Just for once, could I have some good luck?”

She couldn’t help it. She sat down and sniffled, the cold seeping into her bones, the dreaded fatigue making her droop.

Already at her lowest, Karma, with her sadistic sense of humor, answered her rant in the form of a big, probably hungry polar bear that emerged from the sea waters, water sluicing from its fur. In shock, her jaw dropped, her throat locked and Vicky stared unblinking as it lumbered in her direction.

Forget remembering to take a picture. For the second time that day, Vicky’s face got acquainted with the ice.

What am I doing here?

Gene meant to leave the girl behind. He truly did because that was how bad guys acted. It was in the villain handbook somewhere.
Don’t give a shit about anyone, especially strangers. Even cute ones.

He knew that. His bear knew that, and yet for some inexplicable reason, he’d no sooner left the woman than he circled around. Paddling to an ice floe with a hump, he clambered aboard and inched his way along it until he could spy on the beach he’d left behind, and its occupant.

A silent spectator, he observed as she roused from her faint and took stock of her surroundings. His hiding spot wasn’t the best, his bulk larger than the swell on his floating berth. She caught a glimpse of him and took pictures. Lots of them.

Ack. Gene hated technology, and he especially hated having his photo taken, but that still didn’t send him on his merry way.

Nope. He perched there on his floating isle and kept an eye on her. It proved more entertaining than expected. He noted her dilemma in escaping and then chuffed in inescapable amusement as her various attempts to climb met with failure. He’d never seen a more pathetic and head-shaking, disbelieving moment as her slipping and sliding over and over down the hill. Did the girl not have any basic ice-climbing equipment? Apparently not because she stopped after several failures. When he saw her dig out a phone, he almost left.

At least she could call for help. Probably the first smart thing he’d seen her do since he’d encountered her. Except, judging by her dancing and prancing, and the flinging of said phone, she seemed to be experiencing signal issues. Not uncommon depending on her carrier.

Worldwide coverage to a phone provider meant worldwide cities, not icy plateaus in the arctic. A fact the woman was realizing—and sniffling over.

Such a useless reaction. Crying wouldn’t solve her problem. Sitting on her butt wouldn’t either. Then again, what else could she do? At this point she needed a hero to rescue her.

Sigh.

I’m not a fucking hero.

But he also couldn’t just let her sit there. Why, he couldn’t have said. He totally admitted he was a dick. The first to volunteer if someone needed violence accomplished or mayhem to explode. And totally into the whole vengeance gig.

Rescuing stupid women who went off on their own, ill equipped, not prepared and unlucky beyond belief? Someone else’s job.

What if there is no someone else?
How long before someone noticed she’d gone missing? Before a search party was sent out?

Could she survive the coming cold of night? Fend off any possible wild animals? Because Gene wasn’t the only thing with teeth and claws that roamed the frozen plains.

Another big sigh.

I don’t fucking believe I’m about to do this.
Into the frigid water he slid, which he didn’t mind given his polar bear packed an insulating layer that kept him from freezing to death.

Paddling over to the sea shelf, he couldn’t help but note when she realized he approached. Her eyes grew wide behind her crooked glasses, and she keeled over.

She fainted. Again. Did the girl not have a courageous bone in her body? He knew not all women were so weak-hearted.

From what he’d heard through the rumor mill, Reid’s human mate, Tammy, had taken on his Kodiak bear form armed with only a frying pan. As for poised and blonde Jan? She never went anywhere unarmed. Gene’s less-than-intrepid researcher? She took a nap.

She so doesn’t belong out here.
Especially not alone.

As Gene emerged from the sea, he shook himself, sending droplets of water flying. He couldn’t help but think that at least if she remained unconscious she’d probably make his annoying rescue of her much easier. Hysterical women grated on his nerves.

But speaking of rescue, exactly how would he get her up the hill? In his bear form, he couldn’t exactly carry her, and yet, in his human form, which would entail nudity in freezing temperatures—which he could handle for a little while before suffering—he would have the same problem she did in clambering up the incline.

He would need the traction his paws and claws could give him, which meant dragging her.

Fuck I hope no one is around to tape this.
He could just imagine the YouTube sensation.

Polar Bear drags unconscious woman off to its lair.

He preferred headlines more along the lines of
Polar bear eats idiot who thought he could videotape him and post the fucking thing online.

It soon became apparent that dragging her uphill was going to have more challenges than expected. Such as how to do it without trampling her. She was a tad larger than a fish. A lot more fragile than a seal. And since the whole purpose behind his act was to keep her alive, bouncing her head off the ice might not prove the best recourse.

With a growl, he shifted shapes and stood, hands on his hips, glaring down at her.

“What am I going to do with you?” he muttered aloud.

She would, of course, take that moment to flutter her eyes open, blink, take in his appearance, and then, instead of screaming as expected, replied, in a slurred voice, “Wow. Can I suggest you do me?”

Well, that was unexpected. He surely misunderstood. “What the fuck did you say?”

She squinted, her glasses lost or tucked away. “You are naked.”

“Very.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are you naked? It’s cold out here.” As if to make that point clear, she shivered. “So cold.”

He held in yet another sigh. “You need to get somewhere warm before you die.”

“You mean I’m not dead yet?”

“Emphasis on the yet,” he grumbled.

“Oh. I guess I’m close then. That would explain why I’m hallucinating a giant naked man is talking to me.”

She thought him a hallucination? That might actually work in his favor.

“This is all a dream.”

A sigh escaped her. “Figures. I never have good ones. Why can’t I have one where I’m on a warm beach? With you naked still of course.” She smiled and giggled.

Gene frowned. Someone was feeling the effects of being out in the cold for too long. It happened. Something about the air, and other mumbo jumbo shit he didn’t pay much attention to. As a shifter he didn’t suffer from normal human frailties.

But she apparently did.

“Do you have a name?” he asked as he bent down to pick her up.

“Victoria, but people usually call me Vicky. Or Trippy. I’m a little clumsy,” she said in an almost whisper, as if confiding in him.

Clumsy was understating it from what he’d seen so far. With her in his arms, he faced the dilemma of how to climb the hill. He solved it the same way he had in the desert with one of his fallen mates. “I’m going to put you on my back. I need you to hold tight around my neck and wrap your legs around my waist.”

“You want me to piggyback you?”

“Yes,” he said, shifting her around his torso.

She clung to him, her chin resting on his shoulder, her limbs snug around him. It warmed him more than it should have.

“Don’t let go,’ he warned as he began to climb.

“I won’t. I can do anything in a dream,” she announced. “I can pretend I’m skinny and beautiful. I can meet strange naked men. I can even kiss them.”

And she did. She planted a sloppy smooch on his neck, and he almost lost his footing.

“What the hell was that for?” he barked.

“A thank you?” she said in a meek voice.

“You don’t need to thank me. This is a dream, remember?” He practically growled the words at her but couldn’t erase the sizzling heat of her embrace. When was the last time a woman kissed him without him getting her drunk first?

Then again, given Vicky’s loopy state, she wasn’t far off. Someone carried around some good shit in her canteen.
Which makes her an even bigger idiot than I thought.

She sighed, her breath a warm flutter on the skin of his neck. “I know it’s a dream. As if a handsome guy would actually come to my rescue. Things like that don’t happen to me.”

Such defeatist words. For some reason he didn’t care for them. “Then they’re idiots.”

“I wish. But I can’t blame them. I’m not exactly the type to inspire grand gestures. Short, chubby geeks with glasses don’t inspire passion.”

He begged to differ. Cold outside or not, she had the most stimulating effect on a certain body part. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I think you’re fine the way you are.”

She snorted. “God, if only you were real instead of a figment of my imagination.”

They reached the top of the slope with the soles of his feet burning from the cold, his fingers bruised and torn from the icy climb, but at least he’d gotten her out of danger. Or had he?

Her teeth had stopped chattering, and her next words emerged slurred, and sleepy. “Thanks, handsome naked guy, for saving me, but now if you don’t mind, I think I’ll have a nap.” The grip around his neck slackened, as did the legs around his waist, and she began to slide off his body.

“Don’t you dare,” he growled. “I did not just carry you up that fucking hill so you could pass out from the cold now. Get on your feet, woman!”

He might have said it in his most commanding tone, but Vicky proved too groggy to listen. Unnaturally so. But Gene didn’t have time to ponder it. He needed to get her somewhere safe. Twilight approached quickly, along with colder temperatures.

He had no idea where her camp was. Not a clue if anyone was seeking her out. And for some reason, he was plagued with an inability to ditch her or wring her neck to quickly put her out of her misery—and solve his problem.

“Fuck me to hell and back,” a place he’d visited during the war and never intended to return. Why couldn’t he just leave her there? She wasn’t his responsibility. She meant nothing to him.

Yet, that didn’t stop him from swapping forms, and by holding the hood of her parka to keep her head from bumping on the ground, he part dragged her then carried her until the cold got too much before dragging her again until he reached the place he called home, which luckily for them both wasn’t too far from where he’d passed out the night before.

More good news? There wasn’t anybody waiting for him. No one took a shot. And all his shit was intact. The bad news? The inside wasn’t much warmer than the outside.

Depositing Vicky on the cot he kept, he went over to the qulliq in the corner of his hut. An Inuit version of a stove and lamp, the qulliq was made of carved soapstone, it resembled a basin. From a box he kept outside, he grabbed some chunks of frozen seal oil and put it in the hollow of his qulliq and lit it. It smoked a bit, but it couldn’t be helped. He’d run out of Beluga blubber, which was the best fuel, burning hot and practically smokeless.

A fire lit, though, didn’t mean an immediately warm home. Vicky lay still on his cot, past the point of shivering, her skin pale, too pale and cold.

There was no getting around it. If he wanted to warm her up, he’d have to resort to old-fashioned methods. Good thing he hadn’t gotten dressed yet.

What a strange dream
.

One moment, Vicky was on the icy ledge, certain she’d freeze to death, and the next, a giant polar bear appeared, the same as before she was certain given she doubted many of them shared the same distinctive bisecting scar down its face.

For the second time that day, she fainted. Forget adversity turning her into some super-duper woman capable of incredible adrenalized feats. She didn’t have time for conscious thought, although if she had, it might have veered along the lines of,
Oh my god, he’s coming back to eat me.
She hit the ice faster than she could blink.

Turned out she would have been totally wrong about the whole eating thing. Nope, instead, according to her foggy recollection, things got weird. Dazed and confused, she vaguely seemed to remember the bear attempting to drag her up the hill. Which made no sense. If it was going to eat her, why not tear into her while she lay practically comatose?

But no. Bouncing her off the humps and bumps, the polar bear tried to haul her upward. It didn’t work. The darned hill just wouldn’t cooperate.

The bear gave up. And this was where the real hallucination began. Suddenly, the bear was gone, and a naked man took its place. As naked men went, holy smokes!

Even with no glasses, she had no problem seeing the guy was built like some kind of body builder. Or wrestler. His muscles had muscles, and she got to touch them. Kind of.

First, her imaginary naked hero attempted to pick her up princess style, which was utterly cool. She’d never had a guy do that before, dream or not. However, that didn’t last because he also couldn’t maneuver the blasted slippery slope.