Illuminating His Bear by Charlie Richards

Chapter Two

Congo sat in the room… waiting. Although it was a bit hot for his bear form, he hadn’t been ordered to shift. Instead, someone had asked him if he could shift.

Really, what kind of question was that? I’m a shifter. Of course I can shift.

Not to mention, since Congo had been in his brown bear form, it wasn’t as if he could actually answer. So, he’d remained still. After all, it could have been a trap.

When the witches had first begun training Congo and his men, they would do that on occasion. They would make comments that seemed to be questions when they were in animal form. Then, if they tried to answer them, they were punished.

Now, Congo knew better.

Only respond to direct orders.

As soon as the grizzly shifter and his weird-smelling mate had left the room—Congo recognized the distinctive scent of magick flowing off the male, so he knew to stay in line—Congo had crept carefully to the window, all the while ignoring the pinpricks of fiery pain that licked through his muscles due to moving without permission. He’d spotted lots of activity in the expansive yard—men moving to and fro, carrying wood, windows, and tools. Congo had also noticed a hyena sitting at the edge of the cypress forest, nearly fifty feet away.

The shifter had been staring directly at his window.

Congo had rumbled in annoyance as he settled back against the wall. Sweeping his gaze over the other five bears, he silently mourned for those who were missing—another six males that he’d spent varying numbers of decades with. Even as Congo understood that the life they’d been forced into by magick-wielders was a hard one—and not one of his choosing—that didn’t change the fact that he had been friends with those people.

They’d followed my lead, and now they’re dead.

Even as Congo thought that, his bear grumbled angrily in his mind. He silently agreed with the other half of his psyche. Their lives completely sucked, but even as their alpha, he didn’t know how to change it.

Fucking magick-wielding assholes.

Good thing they can’t read minds.

Even as Congo followed their orders, he mentally railed against them. He did as he was told, sure—half because he was compelled magickally to do so, but also because of conditioning—but that didn’t mean he liked it. Congo answered to their commands, but it hadn’t always been that way.

Once upon a time, Congo had led his people. While they hadn’t been prosperous, they had known free will. Perhaps hiding in the woods away from… well… everything and everyone… hadn’t been the greatest idea. Still, for over a century, it had worked.

Then the fucking witches.

Congo still had no idea how the circle of witches had not only tracked them but had learned magick capable of bending them to their will. He hadn’t known such a thing existed. His mind remained in-tact, but he felt… compelled… coerced… mentally to obey them. From the way his people behaved, Congo knew he wasn’t alone in that need. Plus, the agony of disobedience could only be ignored for so long.

Still, they’d never been able to touch his mind—his inner thoughts—his true self.

Unfortunately, Congo couldn’t act on his desires—namely, to rip out the throat of every witch in the circle.

Congo didn’t know how long he sat in that room before he heard the rumble of voices outside the door. His excellent hearing allowed him to make out most of the conversation—more shifters were being brought to these guys. Sadness filled him that more were about to be subjugated.

Then the door opened.

The grizzly shifter led a group into the room.

Congo noticed the way the male—Kontra, he’d said his name was—had a possessive arm wrapped around the magick-wielder. He wondered if the grizzly was being coerced as he was. Congo couldn’t figure out another reason for him to side with those who used magick, even if it was a warlock as opposed to witches.

“Okay,” Kontra began. “Here’s our troubled brown bears.” He peered around at them all, a concerned glint in his dark eyes. “Scent anyone you like?” As Kontra asked the question, he turned his attention to the third person who’d joined them in the room.

Upon spotting the large yet timid-looking male, Congo couldn’t help but perk up with interest. The man was broad-shouldered and thickly built, with a spare tire around his middle that just made him appear sturdier.

Great for holding on and fucking.

Damn. Where did that thought come from?

Congo hadn’t felt a sexual impulse since months before they’d been taken by the witches, and he didn’t know where it was coming from now.

Taking in the stranger’s soulful, honey-brown eyes, Congo also had a desire to take away the slightly haunted look he found within their depths. His dark hair hung around his face in waves, and there was a slight salt and pepper look to it, giving him a hint of age that belied his boy-next-door features. When the man’s gaze swept over them all, Congo wanted to roar and demand his full attention.

He even found himself shifting his weight a little, ignoring the pinpricks the movement caused.

Finally, the stranger’s scent hit him.

Mate!

The reason for his infatuation became crystal clear.

Oh, fucking hell. My mate is here?

Congo’s pulse skyrocketed as questions he couldn’t voice snapped through his mind.

What’s he doing here? Is he a prisoner, too? Is he helping the warlock? Why would Fate do this to me?

“One of them, definitely,” the handsome stranger claimed, looking uncertain. He glanced around at everyone again, then focused on Kontra. “But with so many smells in here, I can’t tell.” His dark brows furrowed as he nibbled on his bottom lip. “Um, is it safe to, uh, get close and sniff each bear?” Grimacing, he added, “Gods, that sounds so rude.”

Kontra shrugged. “Once your mate is established, Zhaul, I don’t think he’ll mind.” Clapping his free hand on Congo’s mate’s shoulder, Kontra offered, “We could all head outside… get some fresh air and sun.”

Zhaul, what a gorgeous name.

Seeing Kontra’s hands on Zhaul, Congo barely managed to resist lunging at the other bear. He couldn’t quite stop the rumble from escaping him, though. Pain erupted up his throat and into his head, forcing him to cease the noise.

Still, it drew the attention of all three men.

Shit.

“Well, hell.” Tim grinned—actually grinned—and it didn’t appear malicious. Instead, the warlock appeared… happy.

Never a good thing to make a warlock happy.

“It seems one of our bears is feeling a little territorial,” Tim commented.

“At least something in them isn’t fucked up, then.”

Kontra’s words confused Congo.

Then the alpha added, “It seems the witch’s spells can’t disrupt a mate-pull.”

“I think outside is still a good idea,” Tim stated, frowning. “Why’d we stick six bears in here anyway?”

Shrugging, Kontra stated, “Worried about them running, but from the way they move, I don’t think they’re able to.”

Tim shook his head. “Definitely not.” Then he clapped his hands. “Okay, bears. Let’s go outside.” As the other five bears began moving, Tim and Kontra shifted toward the wall, out of their way, so they could get by. Tim also touched Zhaul’s upper arm. “Why don’t you stick close to the bear that growled? I bet he’s your mate.”

Zhaul appeared uncertain, but he nodded.

With the order to go outside compelling him, Congo used it to his advantage. As he ambled toward the door, he slid between Zhaul and Kontra, pushing his mate away from the other bear. Congo didn’t miss the worried expression on Zhaul’s face, but he still continued to urge him away from the others and to head out the door before him.

Congo recalled the layout of the massive—if a bit rundown—Victorian home from when they’d been brought inside. Turning to the left, he headed toward the stairs and the front door. He exited just in time to see the five members of his sleuth fan out and stop as soon as they hit the patchy grass at the bottom of the steps.

They were outside. The order was finished.

Even as Congo wished he could urge them all into the trees, to run from the warlock and not stop, he knew he couldn’t. Hell, as soon as his paws hit the dirt, he felt that same pull. His body became sluggish, and pinpricks of pain started radiating through each muscle he continued to move.

Congo fought through it enough to maneuver Zhaul a couple of steps farther from the house, but then the excruciating agony fired more insistently through him. Gritting his teeth, he stopped with his shoulder pressed against Zhaul’s body. As much as he wanted to wrap the man in his arms and keep him close, he couldn’t keep moving without passing out from the agony.

“Wow, they took that very literally,” Tim commented, drawing Congo’s attention. His brows were furrowed, and his arms were crossed over his chest. Cocking his head, Tim peered up at Kontra. “Do you think that’s the key?”

“Could be,” Kontra rumbled in response. “But we’ll have to be damn careful how we word shit.”

Tim nodded slowly, his brows still furrowed.

“And they seem to respond the best from you,” Kontra continued, scowling. It was obvious the wheels in the grizzly shifter’s brain were turning.

“I have a theory on that,” another man stated, joining the pair on the porch.

From the guy’s scent, Congo knew he was another warlock.

Just great.

The man’s pale blue eyes swept over the group, and a small smile curved his lips as his focus landed on Zhaul. “Congratulations, Zhaul. I hope the pull of mating will assist us with your bear.”

Zhaul hesitated a few seconds, then rested his palm on Congo’s shoulder. “Thanks, Draven. I hope we can help them all.”

Congo couldn’t help himself. He pressed into Zhaul’s touch as much as his muscles would allow… for a few seconds, anyway. With a clenched jaw, Congo settled again.

“What’s your thoughts, Draven?” Kontra asked.

“They respond to Tim’s orders best because he’s a warlock,” Draven stated. “Just as I’m certain they’d respond better to me as well.”

Wait. They didn’t know that?

Narrowing his eyes just a smidge, Congo racked his brain.

How could they not have known that?

Except, then it occurred to Congo—these people hadn’t procured his sleuth from the witches. He and his people had been in battle, ordered to help some asshole red fox shifter. They’d been defeated by none other than the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.

No surprise there.

When Congo had woken, two of his number hadn’t been with them, so he assumed they were dead. In truth, he’d been surprised to wake up at all. The horsemen could so easily have done away with every single one of them.

Congo hadn’t seen the witches again.

Instead, Congo had been in a room guarded by demons. The Horseman of Death had arrived and touched each of their heads. While Congo could feel a weird, heavy weight settle over his mind, it hadn’t hurt.

Eventually, Death had shaken his head before leaving the room. Congo hadn’t known how much time had passed before the horseman had returned. They’d been given food and ordered to eat it. They’d been escorted to the woods to do their business.

All in all, Congo and his people had been treated well.

Then they’d been brought to this home, to this group of shifters with a magick-wielder as one of their leaders.

Congo suddenly wished he could ask who they actually were and what they wanted with him.

Unfortunately, Congo couldn’t shift unless ordered to, so he couldn’t ask.

And now I found my mate.

Just what the hell am I going to do? I can’t keep my people safe. How can I save my mate?

“I order you all to spend two hours relaxing as you see fit, then return here.”

Snapping his attention back to the deck—and Tim—Congo gaped, even in bear form.

Seriously?

Congo wanted to believe that would work so very badly. After the first few tentative steps, and no pain slashed through him, he made his first semi-free choice in… he wasn’t certain how long.

Gripping Zhaul’s wrist in his mouth ever-so-gently, Congo tugged his mate toward the trees.

To his pleasure, Zhaul didn’t resist.