“You did just destroy Nick Merkel’s best tree field.”
“It had to be done, and you know it.”
Her lips compressed into a flat line. “The Merkels’ farm brings a boatload to the local economy. Hurting this field damages everyone.”
“He refused a direct order to fix his pesticide platform.” Pesticides were a fact of modern agriculture, and most farmers were extra careful about the area where the chemicals were mixed and stored. Not Nick Merkel. Spills were common, and his platform leaked like a sieve. But he didn’t seem to care because the runoff went off his property. Too bad for him that Carl cared. A lot. “He’s leaking poison into the ground water.”
She nodded, grim anger on her features. “So kill him and be done with it.”
“You’d rather I murder him than destroy his prize field.” It wasn’t a question. He knew that shifter law gave him the right to kill anyone in his clan who openly disobeyed him. But the man in him kept looking for a more civilized punishment. Not so for Tonya.
“He’s got a wife and two sons to carry on the farm. They’ll fix the platform and still bring in money to the area.”
Carl didn’t answer. Tonya was a cop through and though. That meant black-and-white law and swift justice. If kids vandalized a building, they went to jail. If a man poisoned the land, he got killed. For the most part, shifter law bowed to human law, but there were two unbreakables. Don’t hurt the land. Don’t disobey the alpha. Nick Merkel had done both.
Something in the Merkel bloodline was just ornery. The man had been a thorn in Carl’s side since Carl had stepped into his position as the alpha of the Gladwin grizzly shifters eight years ago. But Carl had seen firsthand what happened when a leader took the law into his own hands. He had sworn his tenure as Maximus of their mid-Michigan clan would not be one of terror and vigilante justice. So he’d done one step short of murder. He’d destroyed a field of Merkel’s Christmas trees, cutting the bastard’s pocketbook instead of his jugular.
“It won’t work,” Tonya said. “You’ll have to kill him eventually.”
“And then they’ll crucify me for killing one of our own.” He knew because that’s what had happened when he’d taken control of the clan. Another idiot had challenged him, and he’d let his grizzly out. One bloody death later, and Carl was the acknowledged alpha. But then the widow had started grumbling. And before long, others had agreed that an alpha should never kill one of his own.
“It’s an endless cycle,” Tonya agreed. “You can’t stop it. So get on with the next step and kill him. Deal with the next step when it happens.”
“Just help me find my damn pants,” he grumbled, unwilling to admit that there wasn’t a way out.
Her lips curled into a slow smile. “They’re locked in my trunk.”
Carl’s head whipped back to her. “Why?”
She shrugged, a roll of her shoulders that set her breasts to bouncing. “Evidence.”
“Blackmail, you mean.”
She chuckled, a low throaty sound. “Or just a way to keep you naked for a little bit longer.”
She took a step back, her gaze rolling slowly down his torso. Jesus, she was bold. She had a way of making even the most exhibitionist of his set feel dirty in a completely teenage, horny, fuck-’em-fast-and-furious kind of way. But he’d left those hormones behind years ago.
Then he caught her scent. “You’re in heat.”
Damn it, if he hadn’t been so absorbed in dealing with Nick Merkel, he would have noticed it right off the bat. No wonder he was keyed up around her.
She arched a brow. “Ticktock goes the biological clock.”
“Give me my clothes. I am not fucking you. And especially not in the middle of a destroyed Christmas tree field.”
She chuckled. “I don’t care where we do it, Carl, but we gotta do it.”
“No, we really don’t.”
He watched hurt flicker in her eyes. It didn’t even touch her face, but her eyes flinched, and it was more telling on her than a scream on anyone else.
He didn’t want to insult her. He had some warm feelings for her. They’d known each other all their lives, but cuddling up to her was like snuggling with a live hand grenade. He could control her. She always submitted to him eventually, but who wanted to spend his off hours in a constant game of dominance and submission? He wanted someone he could relax and have a beer with. Around Tonya, he’d be on duty as the Gladwin Max 24/7. “All right,” she said as she folded her arms across her chest. Her breasts plumped nicely, and his bear took notice. The rest of him was seeing that despite her words, Tonya had not given in. “Let’s look at this logically.” She almost sneered the last word. Grizzly clans were not known to be deep thinkers. Something he daily tried to change.
“Not until I’m dressed.”
She didn’t move. “Our bears are compatible. We established that as teenagers.”
“Everyone’s compatible at sixteen.” And back then, they had “compatted” as much as possible for a hot, horny month. But even at sixteen, he had grown tired of the constant power play.
