Outfoxed by Love (Kodiak Point Book 2) (18 page)

As Boris met Gene’s polar rush with a grunt of exertion, he wished he could have convinced Jan to go. While Boris might stand a chance against his old comrade in a bare knuckle fight, he’d
end up fucked if Gene swapped into his polar shape. Unless Boris cheated and went for a gun.

Some would say Gene didn’t deserve any courtesy
, that if it took Boris fighting dirty to win, then he should take the chance, no matter the cost to his honor. If it were any other asshole, Boris might.

But this was Gene. Gene who’d slept in the bunk under his and used to poke him with his rifle butt when he snored.
Gene, who made the human recruits piss themselves by shifting into his bear form, looming over their tents and roaring. A man Boris had once shared a hole in the ground with as enemy fire peppered the dry and dusty land. A friend he’d shared beers with and swapped rations—your shoe-leather fruitcake for my cherry-and-fruit mushy medley. Gene was more than just a fellow soldier and a friend; he was practically family.
Once upon a time, we were like brothers.

So
as much as Boris wanted to live, he would play fair. He would give Gene the fight he wanted. He exchanged meaty fists with his lost pal, their bare knuckles bruising with the force of their blows.

Boris
caught some of the roundhouse kicks aimed his way and pivoted to throw a few of his own. He swept his leg as Gene paused to wipe streaming blood from his eye, the cut on his forehead gushing—damned scalp wounds; they made things so messy. His move took Gene off guard, but not enough that he didn’t grab at Boris so they both tumbled in the snow.

For a few minutes, they rolled around on the ground, staining the packed snow with their exertions.
They grappled themselves upright and continued their violent dance. Together, they panted, sweated, exerted, evenly matched and neither gaining the upper hand.

Which begged the question, why wasn’t Gene killing him? Boris knew he could. He’d seen his old friend take out the enemy with one well
-aimed chop to the throat, and yet, Gene kept holding back, not going in for that killing strike.

But he sure was leaving his mark on Boris. Bruises blossomed all over his body. A rib or two, maybe three
, cracked during a particularly vigorous hug that had Jan shrieking.

“Stop,” she cried. “You’re killing him.”
Followed by the more worrisome click of a hammer being pulled back. “Let him go,” she demanded, “or I’ll blow your head off.”

Crouched in a fighting stance, Gene didn’t take his wild
, angry eyes from Boris’ as he snarled. “Stay out of this fox. This is between Boris and me.”

“I won’t let you kill him.” She took aim
, and Boris knew she’d do it. Solve the problem for him. Take the decision from his hands.

“No,” Boris yelled.
Despite the fact he left his rear unprotected, he lunged and knocked her hand as she fired, skewing the shot.

With a yelp, she turned hurt
-filled eyes his way and whispered, “Why?”

Gene replied
for him. “Honor. It always was his failing. But not mine.”

The kick to
his back sent Boris flying face first into the snow, but even blinded, he heard Jan’s scream.

“Leave him alone
,” she yelled.

As he pushed himself to his knees, he saw Jan attack Gene, her little fists pummeling him, ineffectually, but in her terror
-stricken rage, she didn’t seem to care. She jabbed her knee upward, and missed. She tried to headbutt; however, Gene tilted his head. With someone less experienced, his vixen might have done some serious damage. Not Gene though.

“Enough,” roared the polar, a hint of animal growl coming through.
He flung her away from him, and she stumbled and tripped over a body. She fell hard, her head cracking against the side of a snowmobile.

That berserker rage
Boris had thought all used up in the initial battle? It returned. And forget his previous notions of honor. No one, old friend or not, touched his vixen. “You. Hurt. Jan.” The words were roared as Boris sprang to his feet and lunged, hitting Gene in his midsection and tumbling them both to the ground. Straddling the bear’s upper torso, Boris pummeled him.

Left.
Right. Left. His primal inner beast enjoyed the satisfying smack of flesh on flesh. It took several shots for him to realize Gene did nothing to defend himself. He didn’t fight back, which totally took the fun out of it.

Chest heaving, Boris paused in his beating to stare.

Gene lay on the dirtied snow, bruised, battered, and bloodied. He didn’t beg for mercy. He didn’t raise a hand to protect himself. On the contrary, he kept his arms spread in a gesture of surrender.

As
Boris panted in the cool air, his warm breath misting, he could see Gene wanted to die. Saw the defeat in his eyes. The silent demand to put him out of his misery.

Killing Gene would solve
so many things. Giving him the bullet he desired would end a large portion of the problems facing him and the clan. Best of all, it would make Jan safe, from Gene at least. But … Boris couldn’t do it.

He knew what it was like to live with the nightmares. To wake screaming at ghosts and to alienate himself from those who would dare care about him.

In a sense he was Gene, or would have been were it not for Reid and the others. They’d brought him back from the brink of despair and given him purpose. And then Jan brought color and warmth back into his life.

Knowing how close to the edge he’d once tread, could he really condemn Gene?
Or was there another way?

He stood and gazed down at Gene. He could see the resignation in his old friend’s eyes.
It would be so simple to give him what he wanted. Life was full of hard choices. Try or die. Kill or let live.

Boris
held out his hand.

But Gene wouldn’t take it.
He slapped it away. “What are you doing? Shoot me. You know it’s the only way. I deserve this. I brought this on myself.”

“I won’t kill you.”

“You have to. Think of all the things I’ve done. The people I’ve hurt.”

“We all make mistakes.”

“I’m made more than mistakes.” Gene yelled. “I deserve to die for what I’ve done. I should never have come back. I should have died in that damned hellhole.”

It hurt Boris to hear Gene’s truthful admission, the pain in it.
“Yeah, you’ve made mistakes. Bad ones. But so did I. We all have at one point or another. Sorry, old friend, but you won’t be dying today. It’s time to put the past away and move forward. Time to heal.”

“Heal? Are you out of your fucking mind? I. Tried.
To. Kill. You.” Gene enunciated each word. “Avenge yourself.”

“I forgive you.”
Three simple words. Words that made Gene physically flinch as if each were a bullet.

“No. No. NO!” Rolling to his knees, Gene pounded at the snow and screamed wordlessly. Boris didn’t let that stop him from putting his hand on the man’s shoulder.
A simple touch. A touch not of violence but of forgiveness and acceptance.

“
Nooooo!” Gene roared, the tone shifting into a mighty bellow as his polar bear burst free from his human skin in a frenzy of white fur. Off Gene lumbered, his head shaking wildly as if trying to dislodge a coronet of bees, but it would take more than that to shake the unleashed emotions loose.

Watching, Boris made no move to follow.
Had he made a mistake? Perhaps, but more and more, as he looked back upon Gene’s actions, while destructive and hurtful in nature, a part of the bear had held back from the final step. Yes, he’d done vile things, but in the end, he’d not crossed the last threshold where redemption was no longer possible.

In the shifter world, wild instinct often battled with civilization. Violence, while not as a widespread, was still a huge part of their lives
, so it made them perhaps a little more understanding and willing to forgive or avenge slights. Did Gene deserve punishment? Yes, but somehow Boris doubted anyone could punish Gene more than he punished himself.

Boris
turned as he felt Jan’s light touch on his arm. He tucked her into his side, relieved that, in spite of a blooming bruise on her temple, she didn’t seem any worse for wear.

In a soft voice she said,
“Are you sure you should let him go? He did, after all, harm people in the clan.”

“He lashed out. But honestly, if you look more closely, those who were most hurt were those acting against us.  What did we lose? A few traitors, a roof, the blinders we wore thinking our clan was insulated from the bickering so often found
in other shifter groups. If Gene deserves to die, then so do I. I’ve done bad things too.”

“For the good of the clan
,” she said justifying his actions.

“A matter of perspective.”
The families of those Boris harmed and killed for the good of the clan would argue he was evil and in need of putting down. How events were perceived depended on which side of the battle lines one stood and how the outcome affected you.

“Will he be back?”

“Yes.” Of that, Boris was fairly certain. “And maybe next time I will have to give him the death he begged for, or maybe, now he knows he can still achieve forgiveness he can begin the process to heal.”

“Or go completely
postal.”

Perhaps, but Boris wanted to believe
that at his core, the good Gene, the one he used to trust with his life, was still somewhere within the broken shell of the man. He hoped.

With nothing left to keep him out in the cold, Boris commandeered a snowmobile and bundled Jan on the back, but not before snagging a cell phone from a body and putting a call in
to Reid.

He relayed the events to his alpha quickly and with
out embellishment. At the end of it all, Reid sighed. “Are you sure letting him go was the right thing to do?”

“Maybe not for the clan, but it was for me,” was his honest reply.

“Then we’ll deal with it. I’ll send a bunch of guys out to your location for cleanup. Will you be sticking around?”

“I’d rather not. I want to get Jan away from here before she causes more trouble.”

“Hey,” she chirped with a slug to his arm. “If it weren’t for me, you’d be wearing a crossbow in your heart.”

“If it weren’t for you, I’d be home
, warm and snug.”

She made a face at him as Reid cleared his throat. “If you two are done bickering…”

“Sorry. You were saying.”

“
I was asking if you have a clue as to who Gene meant when he talked about this other dude running his own agenda?”

“Nope, other than the fact it’s someone we might know.
Someone from our past.”

“
But who?” Reid asked.

Who indeed
? A question Boris would worry about later. Right now, he had a shivering vixen to get home.

Dragging their asses back to his house
on a snowmobile that chugged like a tired choo-choo, Boris fought to remain alert. Not easy given he was tired and bruised. But not beaten.

They’d emerged victorious this day.
We’re alive. Intact. And going home.

H
e didn’t even have the strength to muster any surprise when he saw the white pickup truck still sitting in his driveway.

It seemed he still had guests.
Great. He opened the door to his house and ushered Jan into the warm interior.

Jean Francois was just helping Irma into her coat.

“I told you the boy would bring her back,” he remarked to his wife.

“How do you know it’s not she who dragged him back?” she retorted.

“Why is it you don’t seem surprised by the fact we both look like we’ve engaged in a minor war?” Boris pointed out.

His accusation froze Jan who stood in front of the fire warming
herself. She turned to face her parents, her gaze narrowed with suspicion. “Daddy, when you sent me outside to run around in circles and worry my moose, did you know there were rogues in the woods with a tranquilizer gun?”

“Yes. I knew you’d find them.”
Jean Francois didn’t even have the courtesy to appear abashed at his actions.

“They shot me and kidnapped me. If Boris hadn’t arrived in time, I might have ended up who knows where.
Maybe even dead.”

“But you didn’t. I figured the boy would find you.”

As their conversation filtered through his tired brain, a kernel of anger sparked. “You mean you intentionally sent her into danger?” Boris bellowed.

“She wanted you to
get it through your thick skull you cared for her and needed her. I thought it would do her some good to also see she needed you. If you ask me, it all worked out in the end.”

His “She could have died!” was echoed by Jan’s “He could have died!”