Page 72 of Bad Blood Bear

Chapter 31

An hour later, Lissa and Flynn stood near the edge of the woods, as close as they could get to the place where Brother Damien was holding Tank without being seen.

Flynn was wearing a combat vest bristling with weapons. Lissa was wearing nothing but a long robe resembling those worn by the People of Ursus, hastily made from an old bathrobe. It was supposed to make her look submissive to Brother Damien’s will.

Instead of like she wanted to kill him.

She could feel his compulsion pulling at her, pulling at her bear, but it was just barely possible to resist when Flynn was with her.

Her alpha.

The others were hidden in the trees, Sloan high up with a sharpshooter’s rifle in his hands, and the others with trank guns, ready to shoot or shift.

“This is one crazy-ass plan, Little Bear,” Flynn said. “With way too many ‘ifs’ and ‘maybes’ in it.”

“You’re just mad because you’re supposed to be the crazy one,” she said. “Don’t think they haven’t told me the stories. I just hope you can figure out how to use that blue magic on the fly.”

“Me too,” he muttered.

Lissa heard faint voices come through Flynn’s comm set. “Wildcat One, in position.” That was Sloan.

“Wildcat Two.” Jasmin.

“Xander.”

Lissa smothered a snort. Always the rebel.

“Showtime,” Flynn said.

Lissa sent up a quick prayer to the real Bear God, if there was one, and moved through the trees, Flynn behind her. They pushed through the last ten feet of underbrush and stepped out of the woods.

In front of them, the rock face curved like a natural amphitheater, with the center of it about forty feet away from her.

There were three grim-faced Brothers of Ursus on either side, including Edward. Two more stood at the top of the cliff above, with rifles. In the center was the scene from her vision: Tank spread-eagled against the rock face, bound with heavy chains, and Brother Damien holding his flaming knife—this time against his neck.

Lissa had to bite back a growl when she saw Tank. Brother Damien hadn’t stopped torturing him, even after he’d sent the vision. He’d just kept it up for fun.

There was fresh blood streaked over the dried blood from the earlier wounds, and she saw at least a dozen new cuts. Tank was slumped, head down, all his weight on the manacles cutting into his wrists, but he must have caught Lissa’s scent, because his head lifted until she could see the despair in his eyes.

Flynn gave a faint snarl.

Brother Damien stared at her, his eyes glowing crimson. “My Vessel,” he said, his voice low and gravelly, as if his bear was trying to come out. “You should have come alone,” he said. “I told you to come alone. Now this bear must die.”

Lissa’s bear was clawing at her insides, not knowing whether to kill Brother Damien, or run up and submit to him.

We’re not doing either, she told her bear. Stick to the plan. Trust the crew.

“He planned on killing Tank anyway,” Flynn murmured. “Don’t let him get to you.”

She had no intention of letting him get to her. She was here to save the man she loved.

“I must have forgotten the alone part,” she told him. “You know how women are. Disorganized minds, and not very bright. Only good for breeding, really. This is Flynn,” she added, as he stepped up beside her, legs splayed aggressively, hands on his assault weapon. “My new alpha.”

Brother Damien laughed—a wild, maniacal sound that echoed off the cliff face. “Your pitiful attempts at defiance amuse me,” he said. “A broken mate who refuses to claim you. A rogue alpha whose power is no match for mine.”

Flynn said nothing, just looked him up and down with flat eyes. Only Lissa could hear the deep rumble in his chest—almost like a purr, but way, way scarier.

Finally Flynn said, “Want to bet? I’ll throw down. I haven’t had much exercise lately.”