M
C Bear My Baby
, the Beartooth Brotherhood MC series, and all of Bella Love-Wins’ shifter stories are set in a world which includes both natural born shifters and shifters who are turned by a mystical immortal mystery woman named Theriona. The entire saga is called The Marked Chronicles.

For the most part, humans are not aware of their existence.

Be ready for sexy shifters of all varieties, witches, immortal beings and a lot of romantic hook-ups!

MC Bear My Baby tells its own story and can be read on its own.

Tate

“
U
nsuspecting kitty cat panther motherfuckers
.”

Tate Roman laughed to himself and threw his turn signal on, jerking his bike to the left instead of continuing on to Red Ridge, affectionately known as Shifter Canyon by those who knew shifters existed. He was on his way to the Beartooth Brotherhood MC clubhouse and headquarters, but this looked like a worthwhile diversion. He eyed the lined up motorcycles outside the seedy bar. They all belonged to panther shifter MC members, his club’s most recent rivals. Using the motivation from his umpteenth energy drink of the day, he set his sights on playing a little mischief where it was totally warranted.

“We got business.”

He pulled off the deserted highway into the rich red desert dust. The Arizona sun beat down on his bike, hot and intense like a belt hitting his back the way he liked it. That wicked heat left trails of sweat easing down his spine as he licked his lips. He ran a hand over the top of his bright blue spiked mohawk haircut and pulled his sunglasses down half off his nose. There was no mistaking what he saw. Yes, it was time to have some good old-fashioned fun.

Tate put out his kickstand, but kept the motor running. Stepping off his bike, he cracked his knuckles. A fast, clean getaway was on the agenda. Panther insignia and emblems were all over the fuckers’ bikes, anything from custom rims, seat cushions, and flags trailing off the back. It was a parade of panther pride begging for a beatdown when they were this damn close to Beartooth territory.

Tate was not here to let these slackers get to him, though. They sure as hell wouldn’t get the chance to ruin his day. Oh fuck no. This was the one bright spot in a day filled with a whole lot of suck—and not the good kind where he got to get off, either.

As the thought crossed his mind, he made a mental note to set up a session with his little Latino dominatrix. He could go check her out after he reported back to the MC at the end of this little side venture. The adrenaline rush of that alone made him horny as hell.

Tate hopped off the bike and got to it. He strolled over to the rival bikes as if nothing was out of place about him being there, and then he whipped out a switchblade. Within less than a minute he’d punctured every single bike’s back tire and was shoving his now closed blade in the back pocket of his leather pants.

“Easy, peasy.”

He whistled, thinking it would only take a slight swing of his right hip to catch the first bike in the side and create a domino effect of crumpled, falling motorcycles. He thought against it just as quickly as the idea popped into his head. That was even beyond his limit, even if they deserved it for accepting the paid job of blowing half of his MC’s clubhouse sky high. Most of the repairs were complete, and the headquarters of the Beartooth Brotherhood MC were pretty much good as new. Still, it would be a long time before Tate could let that go. For now, slashed tires were enough grief.

Damn, did it ever give him a little gallop in his giddy up. He grinned like an idiot as he strolled over to his still running ride.

Payback’s a bitch, motherfuckers.

Tossing his leg back over, he raced out of there, kicking up a cloud of dirt wide enough to swallow his vision of their reactions through his rearview mirror. No matter how those panthers handled it, Tate’s only regret was not being able to plant a hidden camera so he could catch their reactions, which were sure to include sputtering, swearing up a storm, kicking up more dirt, and pinwheeling their pansy arms in a little toddler tizzy.

Pure. Comedy. Gold.

Unfortunately, he had real life goals to keep up with, and no time to play his own version of primetime prank war. Still, it didn’t stop him from plastering a shit-eating grin on his face until he finished the fifteen mile ride to the clubhouse, parked his chopper, and headed inside to check the bulletin board. It was time to see how the security team shifts and assignments had been handled this week.

The Beartooth Brotherhood MC was headed in a new direction. Tate had been against the change at first, mostly because he hated the idea of having to tone shit down and put on a front, acting all presentable with security clients instead of getting to kick up his dusty boots, sell guns for cash, and cause mayhem in hussy dens and back alleys. Time and damned good gigs had made him come around. The MC President’s Silas had taken his old lady, Sabrina’s advice, and she had set them up right. So far, he only had to wear a suit with certain high profile clients, and on request. Silas had seen to it that Tate didn’t get stuck on most of those cases, which made everyone happier in the long run. They were making it work, and that was good enough for him.

At the bar, he nodded to a few of the sweet-looking MC groupies they called ‘
twisted claws
’ behind the counter. One of them knew him well enough to know he wanted whiskey. She slid a bottle over to him, and with no shot glass. He gave her a nod of thanks and turned to look over at the other members spread out around the club’s common room. They were taking it easy during their downtime today rather than scraping by with a nine to five like the rest of the human race.

“Check out all you lucky fuckers,” he chuckled out, and was greeted by a chorus of smiles mixed with the usual cussing and friendly hollering.

Tate ran a hand over his spiky hair, smirking. Taking the bottle with him, he stepped across the large room and scanned the board outside the family meeting room for his name. Sure enough, he was there highlighted in bright pink as bold as a stripper’s thong in a glow in the dark sex club. That notation meant he needed to phone Sabrina to get specific details on his latest assignment. Not that he had a problem with that. Sabrina was always a pleasure to talk to, even if she never wanted to hear from him. He dug his cell out of his pockets, went to his log of missed calls, pressed her number, and put the phone to his ear.

“This is Sabrina.” Silas’s old lady answered after barely half a ring, and immediately, her intense focus practically strangled him over the phone.

“Hey, it’s Tate. You’ve got something for me?”

That was one thing he appreciated about the nature of their interaction. Neither of them had a problem with cutting through the bullshit.

“Yes. Give me a second.”

He heard her flipping through pages on the other line, so he leaned against the wall to wait, turning just in time to smack the round, sweet backside of a redhead twisted claw as she moseyed on by.

“That’s a fine piece of ass right there, little lady.”

“What?”

Right. Sabrina was still on the line.

“Nothing. Just appreciating the…ambiance over here at the clubhouse.”

“Hmmm. Okay…”

“By the way, how’s the poor little kid doing?” He was talking about Sabrina’s best friend, Addison Riley. He was not poor and not a kid, but that’s the way they all referred to him. Addison was the only son of Nevada State Governor Jar Riley, one of the wealthiest legitimate billionaires west of Chicago. They also called him a kid because he was the first ever ‘turned’ bear shifter known to the MC. Silas had rescued the poor bugger from the panther compound during their last all out brawl, and Addison was so grateful, he brought in a ton of new uber-rich clients wanting protection services.

“He’s doing fine, and you can ask him how he’s doing yourself in a few weeks when you guys go to his place for card night.”

“Right.”

“Okay here’s the file. I’m assigning you to Molly Davenport for the next few weeks, maybe more.”

“What? Nice.” Tate smiled. This was going to be one sweet deal.

“You two know each other a little bit, right?”

“Yeah. You could say so.”

“Good. Silas suggested that you’d be best for this job. Her intake form suggests it’s a medium risk case of stalking, but as always, I wouldn’t rely solely on my notes. Your first meeting should be more of a friendly house call to dig deeper. You know the drill.”

He was digging deeper, all right. “Yes. You can count on me, captain.” Tate chuckled and crossed one arm across his chest. “Thank your boy-toy for me, will you, Sabrina?”

“How about I pretend you didn’t just call your president a boy-toy, and we’ll call it even?”

“Sure, sounds good. I’ll keep you in the loop.”

“Excellent. You do that.” Sabrina hung up. She probably had a bunch of other work to do today, now that she worked her regular paralegal job at a successful law firm, and on top of that, kept the MC’s newly launched security firm on point. It was one hell of a job, but she did it with poise and spunk. With his assignment taken care of, Tate took a second to survey the prime twisted claw meat in the clubhouse, all ready and willing to be licked, sucked, and fucked. A little treat after the long day, but not today. He was bound to have more fun with Molly Davenport, his two for one client special this afternoon.

“How’s it going, sugar?” The redhead who he’d groped just now was back. She pressed her chest against him as he stood there, edging her fingers down to his belt loops. “You have a long…hard…day?”

Real subtle.

He grinned, grimacing a little bit as the chick gave him a seductive smile with her lips parted. This little ball of flames could compete with what was waiting for him at Molly’s. He wasn’t above sampling a wide array of flavors, but tonight he liked the idea of playing with a woman whose kink level kicked his up a notch. Molly was damn near perfect when it came to sex. Which made the twisted claw slithering all over his junk like a snake seem a little less appealing. For the moment, anyway.

He gave her a wink wishing he could remember her name as he had done some work for one of her relatives a few days back. “I’m good for now, honey.”

“Did you help my granny the other day?”

Tate nodded. “Everything went good as gold. The place is set up with an impenetrable safe and eight encrypted servers for her auction business. She’s a feisty one. She told me to listen out for a call on Saturday after her neighbor’s book club. They’re reading something naughty and she promised me it was sure to give her a little inspiration.”

“Oh.” Her little mouth popped open like a fish.

“Yep. That’s your grams.”

“Well, maybe you and I can have a good time one of these days.” She took a clear step backward, untangling her hands from his belt loop.

Tate winked at her. “You bet. Come find me in a couple days, sweet thing. And remember, it’s BYOT at my place.”

“Sorry what’s BYOT?”

“Bring your own toys…as in sex toys.”

She barely nodded, practically booking it back to her spot behind the bar. Tate cocked his head and sighed with his eyes half-closed. One less sorority chick wannabe to kick out of his bed. Some of the twisted claws were too damn tame. They needed to know upfront that he wasn’t just wild, he was wicked; that he wasn’t just dirty, he was filthy. Molly could keep up with him. She’d been warming his bed off and on for over six months. Tate had met her at a local dive bar and they’d hit it off in one of the stalls in the women’s bathroom. She’d rocked his world in ways he hadn’t thought possible for someone so petite. Since then, Molly had made her way into the MC and they’d been casually knocking boots whenever the fancy struck them.

The idea that now he had the opportunity to fuck his client’s brains out while making money guarding her sweet ass? Life didn’t get much better. He frowned for half a second, vaguely disturbed by the idea that she had to have been in trouble to need their security service in the first place. She could have told him herself, and although he wasn’t the white knight type, he would have helped her out anyway.

Shrugging, he put it out of his mind. It wasn’t his problem now that she was an official client.

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