Bear Love: A Shifter Romance Bundle

AshFive Reasons why f*****g Dr. Meg Chambers is a bad idea: 1) She is a vampire. This far north of the Arctic Circle in January, all we have is night. Come spring when the sun touches the horizon? Not good. 2) She is a physician to both humans and paranorms. In order for this fledgling community to grow, Icy Cap needs her. 3) If she has a personal relationship with anyone, the medical review board can stake her. 4) She rents my spare bedroom. 5) My badge says: Ash Barlow, Sheriff/Mayor of Icy Cap, AK. Yep, I’m her boss. I only finish writing number five on my list before my pen freezes. That’s what I get for sitting here in my truck during a blizzard. Ever since Meg showed up in Icy Cap two months ago, fresh out of training and looking for a place to set up her medical practice, I’ve been fighting the urge to claim her as my mate. Now, with the winter’s biggest blizzard bearing down on us, I’m going to be trapped in my cabin with her during the full moon. That time of month, my shifter spirit is strongest. All shifters need to claim a mate. Sometimes that process is easy: two shifters fall in love, f**k each other into exhaustion, then repeat the process, creating little shifters. Then there’s the hard way. Or, as my family would say: Ash’s way. Honestly, I don’t set out trying to make my life difficult. But one look at Meg’s heart-shaped face, curvy ass, and sassy mouth is all it took for my ice bear spirit to know she should be my mate. And that’s a dangerous proposition for her. Meanwhile, trying not to claim her these past few months has been driving me to distraction. Especially because she enjoys taunting me by leaving her bedroom door ajar when she’s changing. Or I find her panties and DD lace bra hanging on our shared bathroom door hook. That sexy little vamp has a twisted streak that I’m dying to taste. However, if Icy Cap is going to progress beyond some backwater hamlet upon the Arctic Sea, we need services. And a physician vampire is a boon to a place like Icy Cap. It was bad timing that there was no place for her to stay except with me upon her arrival. The inn I’m renovating won’t be finished until spring. Renting out my spare bedroom to her made good business sense. Tired of thinking, I cut my truck engine and kill the headlights. Even with whiteout conditions and subzero temperatures, there is no missing the rotten-egg odor of dark magic. Visible between gusts, the outline of my log cabin ahead is a beacon after a day of renovations and, even worse, struggling with building codes. My cabin is five miles away from the Icy Cap Inn. Besides the aforementioned inn, right now the entire town consists of a taxidermy shop, gas station and several empty buildings. I’m so close to home, sitting here in my truck with my list scrawled on the back of a supply order. Now this. Climbing out of the truck, I kick the fresh snow aside with my work boots. Sugar-like granules puff into showers. The snow will soon freeze into a dense mass. I have to work fast. Not only don’t I want to smell that odor all winter, it would hardly be confidence-inspiring to the rest of the paranorms living around here for my place to reek of dark magic. Icy Cap is nothing special to look at now, but it’s going to be a community far north of the Arctic Circle where ice-bear shifters and other paranorms can live year-round. That’s the way it was when I was growing up, before everything went bust. My plan—along with my silent partner and twin brother, Dane—is to build an inn with a restaurant and bar. Following the “if we build it, they will come” logic, I’m hoping that guides, photographers, nature buffs, and hunters will discover Icy Cap. Visitors need shelter, food, and clothing along with souvenirs and entertainment. The tourists’ visits during the three months of endless summer days will bankroll the paranorms’ other nine months of hard-earned solitude. But getting that dream to a reality is taking a hell of a lot of effort. I devoted most of my thirty-odd years to hockey. When my bear spirit refused to be suppressed any longer, I had to figure out a way to live as a man and an ice bear shifter. Coming back to Icy Cap was the only thing that made sense. Unfortunately, it meant rebuilding the community. That is not something life as a star hockey player prepared me for. Times like this, when rotten-egg-smelling dark magic shows up, I miss my ordinary pre-shifter life. Inside me, a growl begins. My bear resents my reminiscing when there’s work to be done. When I stand outside my truck, the snow blows in my face. The air smells damp, even with the freezing temperatures. More heavy snow is headed this way. So why am I standing around out here? A few kicks and my boot hits metal. I squat, carefully brushing the loose snow aside. An arctic hare’s fine long ears and white fur are almost cut in half by the bear trap’s metal teeth. Only a slight dark stain mars the snow; the hare’s blood froze quickly. Some twisted bastard’s trap has sawed off one of the animal’s legs. My bear spirit snarls. The growl escapes my chest into the night. This trap was within my property. All that I hold dear is in my cabin two hundred yards away; I will not let her be harmed. And this isn’t the first time I’ve been faced with an enchanted trap. I have to find whoever is setting glamoured bear traps around my Icy Cap community. Hunting is a way of life three hundred miles north of the Artic Circle. But this trap, like the others, was set to cause maximum suffering before death. And for what? To harvest a “lucky” rabbit’s foot? Certainly, from the hare’s perspective nothing good came of it. No, there was some deeper purpose, but I don’t yet know what. After separating the victim from its snare, I carry both toward my cabin. Even though it is hidden behind thick clouds, the full moon’s tug on my bear spirit is there. No doubt about it; I want to kill the perpetrator. It’s all I can do not to shift right now and begin my search. But first I have to stop by the cabin. If only to reassure myself of Meg’s safety. Around the side of my cabin, I hang the trap on a high hook. Disposing of the hare is a bigger problem. This amount of ill magic is no threat to my bear, but I don’t want small scavengers sickened by the tainted meat. I’ll carry it with me to the sea and dispose of it there. With any luck, the weather will break in the next day or so. My bear spirit strains for release. Keeping it tethered drains me. As I round to the front of my cabin, the hair on the back of my neck prickles. Another ice bear charges out of the blizzard, heading straight for me. The bear somersaults forward, shifting from four legs and eight hundred pounds of ice bear to two hundred pounds of my cousin, Tristan. With his muscular build and strong jaw, Tristan carries the Barlow family traits of arrogance and impatience. No doubt this is why he’s an excellent law student down in Fairbanks most of the time. Since childhood, his once fair hair has darkened to light brown. Maybe there’s hope for the rest of him to grow up too. Or maybe not. Show-off. But Tristan wouldn’t be here tonight unless there was trouble. Neither the hare nor I is having any luck today.