B*E*A*S*T* of Burden

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  Champagne Books

  www.champagnebooks.com

  Copyright ©2007 by Rebecca Goings

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  Champagne Books Presents

  B*E*A*S*T*

  of Burden

  By

  Rebecca Goings

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Champagne Books www.champagnebooks.com

  Copyright © 2007 by Rebecca Goings

  ISBN 1897261284

  February 2007

  Cover Art © Chris Butts

  Produced in Canada

  Champagne Books

  #35069-4604 37 ST SW

  Calgary, AB T3E 7C7

  Canada

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to the best darn editor on the face of the planet: Joyce Scarbrough. Without your patience and guidance, I truly do not believe I would be the writer I am today. Much love and hugs!

  One

  Somewhere in the Alaskan Wilderness

  A split second after the shotgun blast echoed through the night, hot fire sliced through Rogan Wolfe's left flank. Uttering a cry laced with shock and pain, he went down, unable to run any longer. His soft grey fur was already matted with blood, and panic overtook him as he wondered if he was going to die in his shifted state. He tried to crawl away but knew it was futile, as his keen ears could already hear the approaching footsteps of the one who'd shot him. Soft whimpers escaped him, and he would have had tears in his eyes—if he'd been human.

  Deep despair tugged at him, and he cursed himself for making it all the way to the wilds of Alaska only to be shot by an over-zealous gunman who was moving in on his wife. Rogan growled at the thought, baring his teeth at his own frustration. His tail thumped on the ground as he tried yet again to pull himself further along, yet he had no luck. His leg was useless.

  "Rogan." A familiar voice whispered to him from the foliage. "Christ, Rogan, shift! SHIFT!"

  That was Wade's voice. What had he said to do—shit? Rogan's head was reeling, but he heard Wade's voice hiss at him once again.

  "Shift, you crazy bastard!"

  Rogan understood that time. Wondering to himself why he should ever again do anything Wade suggested, Rogan took his advice and slowly shifted his body from a wolf into a human. The pain in his leg was sheer agony, and he cried out when he tried to move.

  Within seconds, the gunman was upon him; Rogan knew because he could hear the man's sharp intake of breath. Pressing his forehead into the cold snow, Rogan could do no more than surrender, hoping the man had more honor than to shoot him in the back.

  "Jesus, mister. You okay?"

  "No, you idiot!” Rogan's teeth were clenched as he said the words, trying to keep a civil tongue in his mouth. “I've been shot!"

  "I'm sorry! I was shooting at a wolf and ... I must have accidentally—"

  Rogan heard a commotion in the bushes before he saw Wade running toward them. “Is everything all right? I heard gunfire!"

  Shaking his head at his friend, Rogan sighed as he closed his eyes. Wade was almost as stupid as Justin had been. He should have stayed hidden! There was no reason for him to come running to Rogan's rescue.

  "I ... he's been shot!” The gunman sounded panicked. “Why the hell is he naked?"

  "Don't worry about that now!” Wade exclaimed, shrugging out of his coat and tossing it to Rogan on the ground. “Help me get him to shelter. Looks like it might snow again."

  The two men hefted Rogan between them once he had the coat firmly around his hips, making him grunt in pain.

  "What are you doing?” Rogan demanded, resting his flashing eyes on his old friend.

  "We're helping you, sir,” Wade said, glancing at the man holding the gun. “Just relax."

  "Relax?" Rogan cried out when Wade's leg bumped his, making shards of pain shoot throughout the four corners of his body.

  "I see lights up ahead!” Wade said, pointing to the house Rogan had been circling in his shifted state a few minutes earlier.

  "That's my ... girlfriend's house,” the gunman said.

  Rogan's head turned toward him. The man wore a heavy jacket and a furry hat, but all Rogan could concentrate on was his pulsing jugular. If he weren't in so much damned pain, he would have shifted to teach this man a lesson. Marlie wasn't his girlfriend—she belonged to Rogan! He growled low in his throat.

  The man must have heard it, because as they limped toward the house, he glanced up only to shudder at the look in Rogan's eyes. “Don't you worry about a thing, mister,” he said in a shaky voice. “We'll take care of you."

  Rogan opened his mouth to say something, but he grunted when he felt a jab in his ribs. Whipping his head about, his gaze locked with Wade's, who adamantly shook his head a few times. Rogan narrowed his eyes and growled again, telling Wade without words that he wasn't too happy.

  But within a few moments, nothing else mattered. There, on the porch step of the quaint house nestled amidst the snow and trees, stood Marlie Silver, the woman Rogan had been dreaming about for weeks at the B*E*A*S*T* compound. The woman he'd come all the way to Alaska to find.

  His wife.

  * * * *

  Marlie seethed when she finally caught sight of Kevin in the trees, but he wasn't alone. He and another man were flanking a third, helping him limp along to the house.

  "Marlie, open the door!” Kevin called out, his warm breath puffing in the chilled air.

  "What happened?” she asked, eyeing the man who was limping and wondering why he was wearing nothing but a jacket tied precariously around his waist.

  "I shot him,” Kevin replied. “I was aiming for that damned wolf but got this guy instead."

  Marlie gasped as she flew to the door, opening it wide to allow the men to pass through. “I told you not to shoot it!"

  Stumbling back into the warmth of the house, Marlie waited until all three men were through the door before she closed it behind them. That's when she noticed the blood.

  "Kevin, he's bleeding everywhere!"

  "I know, damn it!” Kevin yelled, glaring over his shoulder.

  Marlie ran into the bathroom down the hall, rummaging underneath the sink for her first aid kit. Fortunately, it was chock full of gauze. Being a vet and living in the wilderness made her prepared for anything. More than once, she'd nursed wild animals back to health. Now her supplies were needed for a full-grown man. She just hoped she had enough.

  Damn Kevin and his damned macho bullshit! So what if there was a wolf outside? They lived in Alaska, for Heaven's sake. Wolves and bears were a way of life. But the moment he'd seen the creature out the window, he'd grabbed her grandfather's old Winchester shotgun and ran down the porch steps before she could stop him.

  Shaking her head, she knew now was not the time to berate him for wanting to play hero. A man was shot, and she had to worry about him for the moment. Dashing back into the living room, she could see they'd moved t
he injured man into her dining room, laying him down on her expensive dinner table. Marlie stopped in her tracks, trying desperately not to scream that the table was solid mahogany when she saw that the wounded man had bled all over it.

  "Kevin,” she began, but he held up his hand to stop her.

  "I'll buy you a new one, woman! Just give me the damned gauze!"

  Marlie stood there with her mouth wide open ready to blast him with her indignation, when suddenly the man on the table lifted his hand.

  "Don't you talk to her that way,” he said, his gritty voice tugging at her memory.

  Had she heard it before? Who was this man?

  The stranger who had helped Kevin and the injured man into the house licked his lips nervously and chuckled, as if trying to break the ice. Swallowing hard, Marlie made her way to the table where Kevin snatched the kit out of her hands, already trying to stem the man's bleeding with a dishrag.

  The man on the table cried out, making Marlie jump. She did recognize his voice. But ... it wasn't possible! Inching closer to the table, she gazed over the man's chest and into his face, gasping while her eyes filled with tears.

  "Oh my God..."

  She covered her mouth with her hand, rooted to the spot, unable to move. Her skin crawled and the room whirled about her head.

  "Marlie, call 911!” Kevin commanded.

  "No!" the other stranger shouted, glancing back and forth between Kevin and Marlie. “No, we cannot have the police out here."

  "But he's been shot!” Kevin's voice echoed in Marlie's ears.

  The stranger continued to argue with him. Talk of blood loss and lawsuits filled the air, but Marlie wasn't listening. Her entire world was focused on the man lying on her table who was staring back at her with such intensity it made her suck in her breath. She couldn't break his eye contact even if she'd wanted to.

  Drawing a ragged breath, she uttered, “Dear God. Matthew?"

  Two

  Marlie ran to the kitchen sink, the contents of her stomach threatening to revisit her. It was Matthew, but that wasn't possible. How was he there? How was he alive?

  "What's the matter with you?” she heard Kevin's voice yell from behind her.

  Clutching the countertop, her knuckles went white and hot tears trailed down her face. She was afraid to turn around, afraid to face the man on her table. She had to be mistaken. There was no way that injured man could be Matthew! She'd buried her husband herself almost two years ago.

  "Marlie,” Kevin called out once more. “Call the damned paramedics!"

  "No!"

  That was Matthew's voice. She'd know it anywhere. The voice that had the power to turn her insides to mush; the voice that had whispered his love for her on many a starlit night. Marlie couldn't breathe.

  "Are you insane, mister?” Kevin exclaimed. “You've been shot!"

  "I'm aware of that!” His voice sent another tremor through Marlie's body. “Don't worry about me. I'll manage."

  Turning slowly, Marlie's breath came in short gasps as she continued to clutch the countertop behind her. The man on the table was now sitting up, resting his weight on his elbows as he gazed at her through what had to be a cloud of pain.

  It was Matthew. Marlie would bet her life on it.

  "Do you know this guy?” Kevin asked, looking back and forth between them.

  "I ... I don't know,” she managed to say past the lump in her throat.

  "But you called him Matthew."

  Marlie could only nod while her heart raced. She knew she must be as white as a sheet, but as hard as she tried, she couldn't take her eyes off the man on the table.

  "Then who is he?"

  Turning his gaze to Kevin, the man said, “I'm her husband."

  Silence descended on them as Kevin's eyes widened. “But her husband is dead."

  "As you can clearly see, I am very much alive, and I would appreciate it if you'd stop jabbing my wounds!” Sitting up fully, he pushed Kevin's hands away from the dishrag, reaching for the gauze himself inside the first aid kit.

  "What the hell?” Kevin demanded. “What's going on here, Marlie?"

  "I don't know!” she exclaimed, turning her tearful eyes on him. “I don't know what the hell is going on. Matthew is dead!"

  "Clearly I'm not,” the man said, grunting when he shifted his weight on the table. “But your boyfriend here almost made it a reality."

  "My what?” Marlie glared at Kevin. “My boyfriend?"

  Kevin chuckled nervously. “I can explain, Marlie."

  "This man is not my boyfriend."

  "Marlie—"

  "We're just friends, Kevin. How could you say that you're my boyfriend?"

  "Well, I ... I—"

  "Hey, I'm bleeding here! Little help?"

  Marlie's anger compelled her to push away from the kitchen sink. Shoving Kevin out of the way, she grabbed the gauze herself.

  "There's one way to find out if you really are Matthew,” she said, giving the injured man a glare as well. “My husband had a scar on his inner thigh from climbing over a barbed wire fence when he was a teenager.” Grabbing the jacket, she lifted it up only to jump back at the man's loud protest as he smacked it out of her hand.

  "Now wait just a minute!” he said. “I may be your husband, but we've only just met!"

  Marlie slapped his hands away in return. “Do you want me to call the cops?"

  The man's dark eyes flashed gold momentarily, and a bolt of fear raced up Marlie's spine. He set his jaw and looked at the ceiling.

  "Go for it, babe,” he finally said. “I'm sure you've seen it all before."

  Grinding her teeth, Marlie once again lifted the jacket and gasped. There on the inner flesh of his right thigh was the long white scar she knew so well. Images of herself licking that very scar came back to her in a rush. She'd kissed him there when they'd first made love, telling him that it didn't matter, that she'd found him sexy regardless of his scar.

  Marlie glanced back at his face, unable to find words to speak. Her mouth was dry and more tears filled her eyes. The man's face softened, and he almost reached out to touch her hair, but he dropped his hand before he did.

  "It's me, Marlie,” he said gently. “And we've got a lot to talk about."

  * * * *

  Rogan watched as Marlie's eyes filled with tears. Her face was finally in front of him, the very face that had haunted his dreams for weeks. Yet, as hard as he tried, he couldn't remember anything about their lives together—falling in love with her, their courtship, their wedding. The only memory he had was of making love to her underneath the light of the moon. Even thinking about it made his body tighten with desire.

  "Where have you been?” Marlie's stricken voice pierced his head, and guilt overcame him. All this time she'd been alone, thinking he was dead. How could he possibly know what kind of hell she'd endured? He could see some of her pain shining through her eyes.

  "Wait, wait, wait.” Kevin's voice broke through his thoughts. “You faked your death?"

  "I didn't fake a damn thing,” Rogan said with a growl, turning his gaze toward the irritating man. “I was abducted, and now I can't remember anything about the man I used to be. Nothing but you, Marlie.” He looked back at her and she blushed.

  "This is ridiculous,” Kevin said. “Abducted? Then who the hell faked your death? Don't tell me you believe this garbage, Marlie!"

  "Kevin, I think it's time for you to go,” she said.

  "No. I'm not leaving you here with these strange men. Not until we get to the bottom of this."

  "There is no we,” Marlie said, glaring at Kevin. “Regardless of what's going on, this man is Matthew Silver—my husband—and I want to have some time alone with him."

  Kevin's face burned a bright red, but he didn't argue. Setting the shotgun by the door, he turned and said, “I'm going to be calling on you later this evening, and I'll come by tomorrow to check on you.” Glancing at Rogan, he pointed his finger and said, “Don't even think about trying anyt
hing, mister. If you hurt her, you're gonna die. Again."

  The door slammed behind him, rattling a few decorative plates hanging on the walls. Silence filled the room as Marlie glanced at Wade.

  "And who are you?"

  Clearing his throat, Wade held out his hand. “My name is Wade McAllister. I'm a friend of Rogan's. Of your husband's."

  "Rogan?” Marlie looked confused.

  "That's what they call me,” Rogan said, trying to ignore his pounding headache. “Rogan Wolfe."

  "They? Why would they call you by your middle name?"

  "My middle name? You mean Rogan is my real name?"

  Marlie nodded and sniffled. “You truly don't remember?"

  Rogan shook his head. “I wish I did. All I can remember clearly is the past two years, and..."

  "And what?” she asked when he paused.

  "It's nothing."

  "No, tell me.” With her soft words, Marlie laid her hand on his. The contact of her skin sent a shiver throughout his body. The way she looked at him made him lower his eyes.

  "I can remember ... you ... and me. Outside at night. Making love."

  Marlie gasped and looked away.

  "I'm sorry if I upset you."

  "Upset me? Matthew, you just suddenly reappeared in my life. Of course I'm more than a little upset! I don't know what to think—hell, what to believe anymore. I went to your funeral. I said goodbye to you! Yet here you are, clearly alive and well, and I had no goddamn idea!"

  "You have every right to be angry, Marlie,” he told her. “But don't be mad at me. I didn't leave you. Those bastards at B*E*A*S*T* took me from you. They did horrible things, even told you I was dead in order to keep me. But I escaped them, and I knew I had to find you, to tell you that I'm not truly dead. I had to let you know."

  "What do you expect me to do? Fall into your arms?"

  "No, but you have a right to know that you're still married."

  Marlie swallowed hard. “You ... you said someone named Beast abducted you?"

  "Not someone, an agency. B*E*A*S*T* is an acronym; it stands for Bio-Engineering to Attain Shift Transformation."