Novak Grizzly (Daughters of Beasts Book 1)

  NOVAK GRIZZLY

  (DAUGHTERS OF BEASTS, BOOK 1)

  By T. S. JOYCE

  Novak Grizzly

  Copyright © 2018 by T. S. Joyce

  Copyright © 2018, T. S. Joyce

  First electronic publication: September 2018

  T. S. Joyce

  www.tsjoyce.com

  All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the author’s permission.

  NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental. The author does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for third-party websites or their content.

  Published in the United States of America.

  Cover Image: Wander Aguiar

  Cover Model: Florian

  Contents

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Epilogue

  Up Next in this Series

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  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Sometimes, when a heart breaks, it’s the most hideous thing in the world.

  Being left behind by someone who once promised Remington Novak the moon had destroyed everything she thought about herself, and the way the world worked. She curled her knees up to her chest and traced the raindrops that raced down the window pane.

  City bear, living in Sacramento where she didn’t belong. Why was she here? Stuck in the middle of this big, busy city, her inner grizzly restless for open spaces. Why had she put herself through this?

  For a man.

  When she caught her reflection in the rain-spattered window, she didn’t recognize herself. Long hair dyed blond for him. She was too thin…for him. She was twelve stories above a street lined with honking cars, in a crowded city, crying…for him. She’d changed everything about herself because that’s what she thought being a good mate meant, but she’d been so, sooooo wrong. She’d never been anyone’s mate. She’d just thought she was.

  Her phone dinged on the cushion of her window seat. For one weak moment, she hoped it was him. She’d been trained to become excited when he messaged. Why? Because he’d become so frugal with his responses she would search for any sign he was still in love with her. So any glowing screen, any ding of a text message, any phone call, her heart had pounded a little faster.

  It was Juno, her childhood best friend from Damon’s Mountains. Remington tried not to be disappointed, really she did. Juno deserved her attention way more than Kagan ever had, but there was this split second when she wanted to cry. Kagan really didn’t care. He’d really left her—the one she’d given up everything for.

  Special delivery, Juno had texted. Clean up all the empty ice cream cartons, put a damn bra on, the delivery guy will be there any minute. Call me when you get it.

  Remington tossed the cell back onto the cushion and leaned her face against the window. The rain matched her mood.

  There was a knock at the apartment door, and she snarled before she could stop herself. All she wanted was to be left alone for a few freaking days. All she wanted was to deal with this heartache the exact way that worked for her, but everyone kept blowing up her phone and pestering her.

  “Go away,” she called.

  “Uuuh, I have a package you have to sign for?” a guy said on the other end of her door.

  Aw, for fuck’s sake. She didn’t want anything. Unless it was another delivery of mint chocolate chip ice cream.

  “Leave it at the door!” Remi scrunched up her face and added, “Please and thank you.” Even heartbroken, she had some manners.

  “You really need to sign for this one, lady. Please, I’m on a time crunch. I’m almost off work, just…help a guy out.”

  “Fine,” she growled. Juno could stuff it; she wasn’t putting on a bra.

  Remington stomped to the door, threw it open, and held out her hands, barely looking at the startled delivery man. She scratched her name onto the iPad he gave her to sign and then handed it back, one eyebrow arched with impatience. He was in a navy delivery suit with a nametag that read Benny.

  “Okay,” Benny yelled behind him at the stairwell. “Bring them up!”

  “Bring what up?” she asked, panicking slightly.

  A half dozen men in firemen suits stomped up her narrow stairwell while an old school boombox started blaring the Catwalk song. “I’m too sexy for my shirt…”

  “What the hell?” she asked, stunned as they filed past her, holding vases of bright pink tulips.

  “Sorry your ex was such a twat,” Benny said. “He was everything that you did not…deserve.” He put his hand to his mouth and arched an eyebrow as he murmured, “I’m not so good at rhyming.” He cleared his throat and began again, but this time reading off a piece of scribbled notebook paper. “‘Kagan couldn’t even get your favorite flower right, and now that emotionally constipated little bunion is out of sight.’”

  “Did Juno write this?” she asked as the men in her apartment broke out in a saucy round of pelvic thrusting and twerking.

  “Yes. ‘And so we bid dickhead adieu. He was never right fur you.’” He lifted his voice and pointed to the poem on the paper. “She spelled ‘for’ like ‘fur.’ That’s pretty funny. Clearly, you’re one of those shifters. Your eyes are really freaky.”

  “That part doesn’t rhyme,” she called over the pounding music.

  “Oh, right.” He cleared his throat and read off the paper again. “’Kagan is a fucking asshole, a fucking asshole, a fucking asshole.’ I think I was supposed to sing that part, but I’m not a very good singer.”

  “Fantastic, are we done here?” she called out over the noise, frowning at the gyrating men now removing their shirts.

  “Yeah, come on boys.” He waved them toward the door. “The lady is declining the full show. Here, this is for you.” The delivery guy handed her a sealed envelope.

  “I swear to God if this is a glitter bomb,” she muttered as she opened it, “I’m gonna maul her.”

  It was a newspaper clipping. Across the top of it in Juno’s handwriting, it read, Time for a Change, Remi.

  “No need to tip,” the delivery guy said as the men all filed out of her apartment. “It’s already been taken care of. Have an emotionally stable day!”

  Remington stood there in her open doorway, her three-days unwashed hair a mess, wearing her rattiest pajama pants and a tank top with three holes and two teriyaki sauce stains, standing on a pile of take-out menus people kept shoving under her door, and staring at the men who filed down the stairwell and out of sight.

  Typical Juno, to make her smile when all she wanted to do was Change and go Godzilla on that… What had she called Kagan? Oh, yeah, emotionally constipated little bunion.

  Remington shut the door and made her way back through the maze of tulips the stripper-firemen had boobytrapped her floor with to her little den, aka the nook by her single window where she’d spent the last few days falling apart.

  Folding her legs under her, she read the newspaper clipping.

  Wanted: A cook/secretary/beer getter/drill sergeant/extra hand for a three-man lumberjack Crew. Pay is decent, hours are long, Crew is rowdy but respectful…mostly. Must be knowledgeable in first aid and not be scared of animals. Must be okay with foul language and dick jokes. Full benefits and a singlewide trailer will be provided. Saturdays off. Must like fun. 1009 Wayward Way, Tillamook, Oregon.

  Remington read it again. And again. Her phone rang.

  She picked up on the second ring. “Juno, what is this?”

  “Tulips,” her lippy friend said. “Because Assface kept getting you roses even though you told him three times you don’t like roses. That was the first red flag, Remi! He didn’t even listen to you. And besides, I’m pretty sure he only got you flowers when he was feeling guilty over something awful he did to you.”

  “Not the flowers. I mean the newspaper clipping you sent me.”

  “Oh. That is your new life.”

  “Uh, no, it’s not. I’m not going to go find a job in some fucked-up episode of Deliverance with a Crew I don’t even know.”

  “They’re a good Crew.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because we stalked them!”

  “Who is ‘we’?” she demanded a little too loud.

  “Me, Ashlynn, your dad—”
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  “My dad researched a Crew. And he’s seriously okay with sending me to my demise with a three-man Crew of foul-mouthed, dick-joking lumberjack strangers. I smell bullshit.”

  “Uh, bullshit must smell like the truth because your dad was the one who sent this newspaper clipping to me.”

  Remington was dreaming. That’s what this was. She had to be dreaming. Her friends and family were not seriously suggesting she pack up her whole life in the city and move out to Tillamook, Oregon to live in a trailer with three strange men. It couldn’t be. Couldn’t.

  Her phone vibrated in her hand right as she opened her mouth to tell Juno she was hanging up. It was a text from Dad. You should go.

  “Juno, I have to get off the phone. My dad has lost his mind.”

  “Okay, call me back when you’re done. I want to hear what he says.”

  “Pest.”

  “I love you love you love you love—”

  Remington hung up and typed out a response to her father. Dad, you know your opinion means the world to me, but this isn’t what I should do. I just need some time. Send.

  You need your roots. You do what you want. You always did. I was always proud. You are tough. My tough girl. Always my tough girl. But you need to breathe. Baby Bear. Go there. Find air. Just breathe.

  Remington’s eyes filled with tears. He was right. She hadn’t been able to draw a deep breath since she moved to Sacramento, and her father was a seer. He saw things beyond this world.

  So…okay.

  If Beaston Novak was telling her she needed to do something…

  She had no choice but to listen.

  Chapter Two

  Kamp was going to kill him. That’s all there was to it. He was going to kill his crewmate, Rhett, and be done with his miserable carcass.

  He grabbed the tools out from under the seat of the firewood processing machine and hopped out of the cab where his old work boots sunk an inch into the mud.

  He was going to kill Rhett, and then he was going to kill his good-for-nothing Alpha and be a free man to just live out his days in the mountains, not talking to anyone.

  Everyone was awful. He hated everything.

  Why? Because it was forty freakin’ degrees outside, and he’d asked Rhett to do one thing—change out the splitter on the firewood processing machine because the blades were dull. And what had he done? Nothing! As usual.

  So he was going to take this splitter and shove it up Rhett’s ass. God, he hoped he Changed. He truly hoped he did. He’d wanted to fight that sniveling little weasel shit since he’d come out here three months ago.

  His radio was blaring “Eye of the Tiger,” but he hadn’t bothered to turn it off. He could use the soundtrack for his building rage. He’d had it! Had. It. Three freaking months he’d been asking Rhett to do simple tasks that he could manage way faster than Kamp could. Kamp had the older machine, and lucky fuckin’ dog Rhett had the new machine that never needed work. But Kamp was doing the job of three people. Why? Because his damn Alpha sucked at managing a Crew.

  And speak of the devil himself… As Kamp stomped toward the temporary trailer park they’d set up, who other than Grim should be there with his chainsaw, ripping the cord?

  He looked over at him with narrowed eyes and snarled up his lip. Why? Who the fuck knew! And since he didn’t bother to ask what was wrong because he didn’t care, Kamp yelled out, “Rhett can’t do one fuckin’ thing I ask him!” and held up the dull splitter.

  Without a word, Grim slid his attention back to the massive tree he was about to chainsaw down and went to work. Typical. Grim was hands down the worst Alpha in existence, and here Kamp was, stuck with the worst Crew, none of whom he could stand.

  “Way to care!” he yelled over the roaring of the chainsaw.

  He’d handle Rhett his damn self, just like he always did. Maybe he should’ve been Alpha of this stupid Crew. But nope, nope, that sounded like Hell. He didn’t want to lead a Crew, which is why this stuff pissed him off so bad. Grim should’ve put Rhett in his place and brought him into line immediately, but the Alpha of this Crew was totally checked out. Kamp freaking hated both of them. Hated being here, hated everything.

  “Hey, asshole!” Kamp yelled at Rhett’s trailer where he was probably still asleep. “You’re fired!”

  And then he chucked the huge blade through the wall of Rhett’s mobile home.

  Chapter Three

  “Oh, good gravy,” Remi said as she kicked off a bramble bush that had clutched onto her ankle like it was trying to escape quicksand.

  So far, she was horrifically unimpressed with the set-up of this place. First off, GPS hadn’t even been able to find the dang address for the trailer park and with the declaration of “You have arrived” had dumped her in a field that apparently doubled as a parking lot.

  Arrived where? The wilderness? She was way up in the mountains, and town was a good fifteen minutes away. Though it reminded her of where she’d grown up in Damon’s Mountains, the dilapidated sign with an arrow pointing at the ground that said Thisa way was about as helpful as a broom with no bristles. After relieving herself of the desperate bramble, she stumbled and tromped up to that sign, pointed straight down at the toes of her shoes. She wiggled the sign to see if it settled easy to direct her to the left trail leading up or the right trail leading down the mountain, but it didn’t budge. Apparently, she was supposed to disappear into the ground like she was freaking Alice, and this was mother-freaking Wonderland.

  Okay, she could figure this out. There were two trucks parked in the field and a Bronco parked by the trees as far away from the other two as possible. They looked well taken care of, not rusted out, so these were probably the Crews’ rigs. Inhaling deeply, Remington searched for any fresh shifter scent, but found none. Just pine and sap and earth. Which meant these boys were homebodies and probably hadn’t went to town in a while.

  She couldn’t find a place more opposite of the city if she tried. A wave of homesickness took her. Not for her apartment, but for Kagan. Weak, weak, weak. He didn’t want her, and she was still pining over him.

  Gah, she wished her brother, Weston, was here. He would have the trailer park figured out in no time. He was an amazing tracker.

  “Eeny meeny, miney, mo,” she murmured, pointing between the two trails. Both were overgrown but worn. “Up it is.” Talking to herself made her feel a little better. She wasn’t used to the quiet of the woods yet. It was familiar, like the mountains she grew up in, but she’d been in the city for years. Inside her, the animal was quiet. The restlessness had seeped from her bones with every mile she’d driven into these woods. She still couldn’t draw a deep breath, but her neck and shoulders didn’t ache as much from the constant tension she carried in them.

  But if she was honest with herself, she still wouldn’t be here lurking around some strange and unfamiliar woods if Dad hadn’t told her to.

  Five minutes of hiking uphill later, and she came to a level clearing. Four singlewide mobile homes were lined up. They were small, but looked newer, each with a front porch off the front doors that she faced. The porches had just enough room for a rocking chair. Or a cheap bag chair, like the closest one to her had. There were three discarded blue Bud Light beer cans on that one, too. Slob.

  The camp was quiet, but in the distance, she could hear the rumble of a chainsaw and some big machine. A log cutter of some sort, and whoever was driving was playing “Eye of the Tiger” on full volume. She couldn’t help the smile that crept to her face. This place sort of felt like Damon’s Mountains, with the evergreens and rivers and mountains and rowdy boys. She could tell they’d be rowdy from the pair of four-wheelers parked under an awning with a bunch of tools scattered about, as though someone was refurbishing them. By the empty whiskey bottles by the front wheel of the big charcoal-colored one. By the game of Cornhole and horseshoes set up off to the side. Again with discarded booze bottles. Slobs and drunks from the looks of it.

  “Juno, what have you gotten me into?” she murmured under her breath as she approached the first trailer, feeling a bit like Goldilocks and the Three Bears. This trailer had new pink rose bushes in front and a white plastic lawn chair right in the middle of the landscaping. Weird, but okay. As she passed the porch with the discarded beer cans, the house number next was 1007. Remi frowned and dragged her attention to the next house number. 1008.