Unlikely Mate: Greyriver Shifters: Volume One, #4

By Kristina Weaver

Unlikely Mate was initially published as the fourth book in Greyriver Shifters by Kristina Weaver. It is now available as the fourth book in a five-part series: Greyriver Shifters: Volume One.

 

Enjoy over 80,000 words in this fourth book of the first series.

 

Unlikely Mate

I'm a mixed-breed shifter with bear and wolf in my blood. I am dangerous and big and scare the females in my own pack. I prefer solitude, and I keep to myself because I doubt I will ever be lucky enough to find my true female, who will complete me. When a car breaks down on the side of the highway that borders my pack and the land I guard, the last thing I expect is to see the most petite human female staring back at me. The last thing I know is that she can never be mine...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kristina Weaver
• Release date: Oct 2, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223017219

Kristina Weaver

Immerse yourself in the world of romantic comedy with Kristina Weaver. Her stories feature strong male characters and witty female leads, creating laughter and chaos before delivering a happy ending. With the added bonus of paranormal elements, her books are perfect for those seeking adventure. Start with the first book in the Greyriver Shifters Volume One series and get ready to be swept away into a world of imagination. Keep an eye out for discounts and even FREE offers on this book because this is an experience you wouldn't want to miss! For more information: Books2read.com/KristinaWeaver KristinaWeaverAuthor at Gmail dot com

Book preview

Chapter One

Cass

I look down at the gas gauge and groan, biting into my lips as nerves and frustration hit me.

Goddammit! Just a few more miles, baby.

I plead with my old, beat-up Civic, tightening my hands around the wheel as if my prayers and touch alone will force the piece of shit to get me a few more miles further down the deserted road.

I can’t afford to stop now, not out here in the dark with nothing to help me. I ditched my phone about two days ago when the calls kept coming and I realized that he could track me that way and then stretched my meager budget even more by backtracking in the opposite direction.

I’m still so pissed at myself for that mistake that I kinda feel like I deserve to get stuck on this lonely stretch of dark road with nothing but the woods as scenery, as a punishment for being so damn stupid.

I’ve been on the lam for exactly three weeks now, and I still have no idea what I’m doing. Most days I find a truck stop to pull into when the sun starts setting because I know that I would rather break down in the middle of the day than to drive all night and end up a statistic.

I’ve already come so close to filling that spot it isn’t funny. Well, it shouldn’t be—except that I really am pissed at myself, so I take some sort of sick amusement out of my suffering lately.

Not that I’m a masochist—but come on! I brought this on myself with my stupidity and that damn blind faith my mom was always accusing me of. I’ve brought myself to this point and I have no one to blame but me. Moreover, I have no one to go to for help, something I should have considered before opening myself up and making myself vulnerable.

I’m just coming around a curve in the dark, winding road when the car makes a sputtering sound and jerks, the soft whine making me groan when it gives a lurch that throws me against the wheel.

I hit my head with a bang and spring up just as I come to a stop altogether and everything shuts off, the lights going out as if to add insult to injury.

Shit. Fuck. Sonofasomethingthatmomwouldn’tdaresay! I yell, slamming my hand into the wheel and collapsing back against the seat with a sob of mirth.

I am so freaking screwed right now. So screwed.

Opening my eyes after a few deep breaths to stop myself from screaming, I peer out of the windshield and mutter another string of curses because, hell, it is pitch black outside but for a full moon that is so clear and bright I feel a shiver work its way down my spine.

I am stranded. Literally up crapper creek with no paddles and a hole in the bottom of my boat and...

It’s all on me because I convinced myself twenty miles ago that I could save some money for a motel room and Jesus would help me with gas. I should have known he was calling it after the second time he got me to a town without so much as a fume left in the tank.

But that’s what I’ve been living on for that last three weeks, and God help me if a part of me isn’t still hoping that the Big Man will throw me a bone here.

Sighing, because I am probably delusional at this point in time, I peer around the deserted road and close my eyes in silent prayer before pushing my door open and getting out.

Yep. I’m so screwed, and now I have to use what little strength I have left to get my car onto the shoulder because the craptastic piece of garbage broke down in exactly the wrong spot.

With my luck, someone will come around the curve and end what is left of the only thing I have in this world. Grunting, I lean in to release the brake and put my shoulder into it, wheezing as I try to push and steer at the same time.

I swear to God it takes me forever and a day to get my heap off the road, and I fall into the driver’s seat sweating like a pig and so out of breath it galls me.

In a perfect world, I’d have enough money to live a life where I work out for fun instead of being an unfit car potato whose only aim in life is not to pass out behind the wheel because I’ve started spending food money on gas and...

I giggle, my hysteria bubble bursting because that is just so fucking pathetic! I can’t even afford gas, a place to live, food, and those are the things that I need to live. What the hell is the use of running to survive if I’m going to be the asshole that dies of starvation, pushing her car across the country, because I can’t drive it on air?

I laugh until my sides ache and end on a sob, burying my face in my hands when it all just hits me. I am officially broke. I have exactly thirteen dollars and fifty cents left in my shoe; the nearest town is still a few more miles on this pitch black road; and even if I get there, by some miracle, I can’t afford a room or even food.

I have nothing but this car, my hastily packed bags, and a cactus in a pot that I stole from the office when I decided to leave. And right now...I feel it all, as I try to catch my breath and wipe away the wetness from my cheeks.

I should just give up and use my credit cards, say to hell with running and make a stand, but fear holds me back so hard that I feel a panic attack try to surface.

It’s been this way since Gregor came at me, and no amount of time will stop the memories.

I can’t stop. I can’t be caught, or God knows what will happen to me.

With that in my mind, I roll from the car, tired out of my mind but energized by the drive to keep going. Popping the trunk and holding it up with the metal bar that now keeps it from crushing me, I grab my essentials back pack and sling it over my shoulder, zipping up my hoodie with a determined air.

This far into Montana it’s still a little chilly after dark, and right now I feel as if an iceberg has taken up residence inside my blood. I should be okay though—if I make it to the next town.

Hopefully, they have a pawn shop, I think, closing the trunk and hoping like hell some idiot doesn’t come across my junker and take a liking to her. It’s hard to fathom, but hell, I still like the bitch, so maybe it’s possible.

I start walking, carefully keeping to the very edge of the asphalt and hunch into my hoodie, wishing I’d thought to take a sweater before embarking on this fool’s trip.

Some days I wonder if I have any of the sense the good Lord tried to bless me with because, man oh man, have I messed this all up from beginning to end.

Just a few weeks ago, I was a receptionist with a good paycheck, a nice little bungalow-style home in a middling area in California, with hopes of one day saving enough to go back to school and earn a degree doing something worthwhile.

That was me. A twenty-five-year-old female with no one to call her own, just the need to live and maybe someday do it well and not so alone. I left it all behind for...what?

What I saw...

It can’t have been real. It can’t. I just...

Those kinds of things just do not exist, I tell myself, swallowing when the images and fear come back to hit me again.

I should have listened to my co-worker—Maddy—and ignored Gregor Gage when he started flirting with me, but instead I was flattered and flustered and I just...I wanted what he was offering, I guess.

He was handsome and smart, and he had these merry blue eyes that seemed friendly and not at all threatening when he first spotted me at my desk and started speaking to me.

One dinner later and the guy was acting weird, as if he had some claim on me. Lonely or not, I know when someone’s lost their seat on the sane train, so I got off that station but fast and tried to pull away in as tactful a manner as possible.

It turns out that using tact on a man who thinks you belong to him after some inter-office flirting and one meal does not work. Gregor was...is...definitely insane, and I soon learned that first hand when after two weeks of having him practically stalk me, the man appeared in my bedroom at midnight and tried to claim me.

I fought like a hell demon, biting, scratching, hitting him anywhere I could reach, and then I knocked the bastard out with a lamp after...I don’t want to think about what I saw before I got away, not here on this pitch-dark stretch of road with the woods surrounding me on both sides and my heart threatening to beat out of my chest.

Suffice it to say that I still doubt my memory three weeks later, and no matter how crazy I feel or sound to myself, it was scary enough that I can’t ever go back home.

It sucks—and not just because I have effectively lost everything I owned or thought I could have but because for just a second I thought I had found a guy I could love and build a relationship with.

Gregor was...beautiful. Longish gold hair, blue eyes that reminded me of the ocean that I hardly ever saw—even living in California—and a smile that was just this side of naughty.

He was perfect, and I was so flattered when he seemed to see me, a plain brunette with weird blue eyes and a little too much junk in my trunk, that I guess it never occurred to me to ask why.

I think I know why now. I just don’t want to believe that it’s possible and—

A noise to my left has my thoughts stalling as I whip my head around and peer into the trees, the absolute stillness around me making the sound harsh.

I breathe deeply, forcing myself to keep walking, my head spinning to and fro, as I keep my eyes peeled in all directions. Oh Jesus, please just don’t let anything get me out here, I beg, almost giggling hysterically because I don’t think it would be fair to escape the monster I’m running from only to have something else rip me apart on a road that I shouldn’t have been driving on the first place.

Why didn’t I just pull over in Eureka instead of going west on a wing and a prayer? I ask myself as I speed up, my skin crawling because I definitely feel like something’s watching me.

Paranoia! You’re just a paranoid loser, I tell myself, as I pick up the pace and practically jog. It’s chilly, but I hardly feel it as I start working up a sweat.

It takes forever before I start seeing lights in the distance, but by then I am officially over my paranoia and completely into terror territory because I am positive I just heard rustling to my right. A look into the dark trees revealed glowing eyes that only make me pant as I stumble into an all-out run.

Not like this, God. Let me die in a town where someone finds my body, I beg, breaking into a sprint when I hear a howl and the very informative sound of running steps and rustling leaves.

Another howl splits the air when I give up all pretence of trying not to freak out and I give my legs another burst of energy. Growling comes from the trees, but I don’t bother to look left or right. I just keep running.

Trust me, anything that comes out of there cannot possibly be any worse than what’s floating through my brain right now. Jesus, please let that be true. Rustling closer to where I’m running has me close to hyperventilating, but I keep going, ignoring the burn in my lungs and the terror that threatens to have me collapsing and curling into a ball.

Part of me just wants to stop running, drop and give up. Surely nothing will hurt worse than a plump chick trying to run like hell, but I want to survive and live. I have to.

Go away! I scream, wheezing the words out as loudly as I can, my lungs on fire as I pump my arms and legs and run flat out.

Should have joined that gym four months ago.

But I sat on the couch and chuckled while eating ice cream and watching Will and Grace reruns.

Goddamn that Grace for being so hypnotic!

Another growl splits the air, and this time I see something big and dark in my peripheral vision, the thing running so fast I stop breathing altogether.

I don’t know how I run without breathing, but I do. I manage somehow and blink away black spots while fighting valiantly not to look back. I can hear something behind me, something big and panting and—

Oh Jesus!

How I scream is a mystery, a total freaking miracle, but that is what comes out when I feel heat at my nape, a second before something lands on my back and I go flying.

My eyes close automatically—even though I know that I should be alert and take in my surroundings, and I feel my stomach flip as I go airborne, twisting in a way that has my eyes peeling open.

I see sky, stars, that big, old, freaky-looking moon, and then I feel a hard jarring against my back that robs me of what little breath I have left. I’m stunned for several drawn-out seconds before I blink rapidly and my body starts sending me information.

One, the hard landing that I was expecting, the asphalt face-scraping and broken limbs did not come true. Two, I am on my back. Three, I am trapped on top of...something.

Now calm down, Cass. Don’t freak out! Do not freak out. This is not one of those situations that calls for screaming and willy-nilly running. We’ve already proven you can’t outrun a car in park. Just chill, breathe, and pretend you’re dead.

I go limp immediately, figuring that advice is the best I have at this point and almost swallow my tongue when I feel movement. I now realize there are arms wrapped around me, huge, thick, muscled arms and that the tree cradling my back is a chest and hard, hard abs.

Oh gulp, my serial killer is built like the Rock.

I love the Rock. I can’t slap the Rock and hope to get away. Just thinking about it makes my legs go lame.

Jesus Christ, she runs like a bat outta hell! I didn’t think you’d catch her, Ban.

I hear the other voice and something inside me starts railing, urging me to run, run, run. Right now! I stay still, playing possum because...well, there are two of them and...and...

This is so not fair, God!

One serial killer! Anne Heche only had to deal with one Vince freaking Vaughn in Psycho! Vince is big, true, but he’s unfit, and he looks soft enough for a good old kidney shot that will make his knees lame.

I can’t hit the Rock in his kidney and then run, not if there’s like the Undertaker to contend with too.

I should have gone east! East.

I so totally should not have been heading for Canada because it’s illegal to just sneak over the border, isn’t it?

Is this my punishment for believing in werewolves? I just knew I was nuts, and I didn’t see Gregor turning into a werewolf and...and...

God, please, if you spare me from two serial killers who want to eat my flesh, I swear, I totally swear that I will give up choco-peanut bu—

I can’t even make myself say it, and that’s how I know that I am so dying!

Of course, I was gonna catch her! the guy beneath me grumbles, his deep voice caressing my ear while the arms around me go tight and he hoists himself to his feet in one easy movement that sees me hanging off his front like a rag doll.

I would be totally taken with his strength and the way he hardly puts any effort into lugging me around—I mean, I get a real ego boost out of it since I seriously am not a size two—but all I can think as I go slack is that I am so, so screwed here.

Let them do it quick, God.

We aren’t gonna kill you, the other guy says, chuckling in a way that makes my hackles rise because I so think the schmuck is toying with me.

The guy holding me laughs, and I resist the urge to kick the jerk in his shins when I feel him shaking.

Stupid assholes. I hope I taste like three-day old chicken!

The chicken part is self-explanatory since I am one, and I am not ashamed to admit it, and well, I feel rotten, so I guess I have to taste rotten too. At least I hope they choke on me the Goddamn cannibalistic—

"We’re not going to kill you. Or eat you! Well I’m not, but I can’t testify for my brother." Fiend number two laughs, while one starts laughing so hard my head bobs loosely on my neck.

Let my heart stop, God. Let it just stop, I think, praying for something, anything. I mean, it’s not as if I was gonna make it anyway, not with thirteen bucks in my shoe, a dead car that is starving for gas, and nowhere else to go.

They both start laughing then, and I almost growl my displeasure that they’re finding this so amusing when one leans his face into my neck and whispers loudly, You realize you’re talking out loud, right?

Oh my God!

I sigh, my breath a tortured groan, and raise my head to look up at the stars where I figure God must be laughing himself hoarse right now.

Thanks a lot for making me an only child! If I was one of two, I wouldn’t talk to myself out loud.

My feet hit the dirt, and I tense when I am released, my eyes scanning my surroundings. I don’t look at them. I can’t. But darn it! I look at them. Despite my mind telling me not to, just in case they’ll let me go if I don’t see their faces, and my jaw drops open.

Holy sweet, Jesus.

The guy who I get a load of is hot, as in my panties just caught fire and I think my bra is full of holes hot. His hair is blonde, long on the top and short on the sides in a style that is just...

And his eyes...

My eyes are practically bugging out of my head when I hear laughter and see him smirk before the other guy slaps him on the shoulder. This one is just as blonde, though his eyes aren’t brown like the first one’s are. They’re a strangely hypnotic green that seem almost electric when he looks at me, and sweet baby Jesus in the manger, this guy is spectacular. I think I might be drooling before I snap my mouth closed and narrow my eyes.

We are not going to kill you.

Good because I’d make it hard! I lie, thinking that maybe bravado will work until I realize that I am not supposed to antagonize maniacs.

They both chuckle again, and the gold-eyed man shakes his head before running a hand through his short hair. Something about the way he’s looking at me makes me take a step back when he reaches out a hand, and I see him frown and tense before he drops it.

I’m Banner Kilter, and this is my brother Logan. We saw your car a little ways back and wanted to offer you some help.

I start to relax before my sense kicks in again and I narrow my eyes on them.

It’s almost ten at night. I can still see my car, and I don’t see yours. What were you doing? Talking a lover’s stroll in the woods just for giggles?

Logan snorts, looking away when I glare at him, and the Banner guy closes his eyes as if searching for patience.

We’re patrolling the woods. It’s our job, he says and growls while Logan chuckles and bites at his lips.

At night?

Yep. We’re in charge of securing the town border.

That sounds strange to me, but I need to believe that because the alternative is not something I want to consider, ever again, and I feel myself relax a little more while they share a look. Banner comes closer, and I feel something weird stir when I catch his scent, this clean, woodsy smell that is pleasant and slightly undefinable.

I ignore how much I like it and shake myself, the adrenalin that burst through me moments before deserting me fast and leaving me wobbly on my feet.

Er, yeah okay. Just as long as you’re not into violation and murder, I mumble.

Can we help?

I snort and glance back over my shoulder at the town in the distance where lights twinkle. I should have stayed in my car, no matter how spooky it is out here. There’s nothing there for me except thirteen dollars’ worth of gas that won’t get me very far.

I have one card in my bag, the others are stashed in the glove box in a secret compartment I hit on when some of the screws popped loose. I can use them to get gas. If I’m willing to risk it.

Hearing Gregor’s voice in the last call I took before I dumped my phone, I shiver and feel myself deflate. Having a madman tell you that he’s coming for you and you can’t hide anywhere sort of makes things really clear.

Shit.

Well, I got no choice, I think, closing my eyes as fatigue leaves me swaying.

I ran out of gas. I’m Cass Kepner by the way, I sigh.

We have a garage in town. We’re not quite in Whitefish, but we have the basics, towing included. You want to walk back to your car and call? Logan suggests, making me laugh and shake my head.

No phone.

It’s dangerous to drive alone at night this far out of a town or city without a phone, he says, frowning down at me.

The guy is no less than six three. I’d put him closer to six five actually, and that leaves me craning my neck to look up at him from my five foot one frame.

Yeah, well, tell that to someone who can afford to get a new one. Uh, thanks for...the help, I mumble, shifting nervously because I need to get the heck out of here and get back on the road, preferably before I find out these guys really are maniacs. I need to get going.

Logan looks over at Banner and shifts on his feet while watching me closely, and I get that weird feeling again, as if soda pop is bubbling in my blood. I can’t explain the feeling but to say that suddenly all the tiredness I felt moments ago is just...gone.

Instead of the fatigue I should be feeling after a thirty-foot