Mated to the Wilde Bear

“If you want to move up in this company, you’ve got to go down.”

Laurel read the note one last time—handwritten and complete with a little smiley face and a penis hanging out of the mouth—before tearing it into tiny little pieces with her fingernails. When she was done, she carried it to the trash can and lit the damn thing on fire with the lighter she’d stolen from her assistant. Screw Jones and his disgusting come-ons. The next time he sent her a nasty note like that one, she’d shift inside his office and claw his balls off.

After eleven years with the Wyoming Department of Transportation, she was sick of the kind of men who ran the workplace. But she was even sicker of ignoring them. Notes like these made it almost impossible not to give in to her animal. She needed to shift. And fast.

Another wave of heat washed over her. Sweat broke out on her brow and lip before she wiped it away, a sure sign she’d resisted her animal for too long now. God, these hot flashes were making it hard to see the words on the paper. She could not afford this. Not today, with her monthly reports due by midnight.

At the door to the conference room, someone cleared their throat. Laurel looked up to find Scott, her administrative assistant, casting furtive glances around the room. Great, he probably thought she was trying to get freaky with herself or something. As the only woman in management, Laurel knew what they said about her. About what she must have done to “climb the ladder” to get here.

“Yes?” Laurel snapped.

said in a nasally voice. He had a habit of

here,” she said, already reaching for the phone in the center of the

A plane to catch,” Scott

“Then what did he?—”

Cripple Creek. Mountain biker went down in a gorge. Boss wants you

she asked. “Shouldn’t we call the

No human can get in there.” He practically sneered at that, and Laurel quickly realized the unspoken meaning behind his words. Of course. Gerald wanted a shifter. Scott despised them, as did a number of others whom she’d met here. The world as a whole might have accepted the existence of shifters, but individually, there were

Scott. Around everyone, actually. In her experience, sharing that part of herself always ended in hurt and disappointment—and usually someone leaving