Idris regained consciousness strapped to a table. The shit-stains in the lab didn’t trust him to behave as they conducted their next round of tests and injections. Fucking right, he wouldn’t be a nice Canadian about it. Had his hands been free, he would have cracked their heads together.

Dr. Levy—the scientist leading the experiment and the asshole Idris dreamed of punching—stood across the room murmuring with General Davidson while his lackeys scurried to do his bidding. Blood pressure checked. Penlight shone in his eyes. Stethoscope pressed to his chest to listen to his ticker. The regular routine since he’d been turned into the military’s guinea pig.

Things took a turn when they tried to draw blood. The white-coated male with the syringe should have paid more attention in class because he had no clue how to poke a person with a needle without causing pain. Idris sucked in a breath and closed his eyes, only to quickly open them as General Davidson broke off his conversation with Dr. Levy to exclaim, “I’ll be damned!”

Both the general and Dr. Levy stared in astonishment at Idris, and Idris wondered why. It took a few seconds for Idris to realize his hands had turned into massive paws tipped in claws. A glance at the rest of his body showed it covered in fur, head to toe. Real fur, not his usual thick body hair. He tried to say, “What the fuck,” only the sound emerged as a snarl.

His confusion deepened as Dr. Levy gleefully announced, “We have our first bear.”

A bear? Where? Idris spun his head left and right, only to realize he was the bear.

His mind whirled, trying to understand—and failing. This wasn’t possible. I’m a man, which might have been more believable if not for the paws.

His paws. He lifted the left one, waved it, controlled it like a hand.

What had they done to him? A thought quickly followed by the realization he’d snapped free of the restraints holding him prone and currently sat on the floor.

I’m free!

In the time it took that thought to filter, everyone, including Dr. Levy and the general, had fled the room to avoid the gas that filled it, a sleeping agent strong enough to knock out… a bear.

The next time Idris woke, he found himself still in the lab, this time wearing chains. Not golden-linked ornate ones like the local Ginos used to wear to impress the girls. Nope. His were solid steel and restricted his wrists and ankles. They even went across his wide chest and his neck.

General Davidson, along with Dr. Levy—the prick who’d apparently done more than make Idris puke with his daily rounds of toxic serum—paced around Idris, studying his new shape, not bothering to hide their glee. Idris’ transition into a bear must be the reason behind the injections he’d been subjected to since the beginning of his incarceration.

“I am somewhat surprised a simple needle prick caused him to change,” the general stated. “Usually, it requires more drastic measures.”

Dr. Levy frowned. “That was unexpected.”

“We’d better not have another defective therianthrope on our hands,” grumbled Davidson.

His tone irritated, especially since the man had yet to speak to Idris directly. Then again, no one did. The most conversation he’d gotten since his capture involved “Run faster,” “Piss in this cup,” or “Have you always been this hairy?” To the latter, he replied yes. Some men had to deal with five o’clock shadows. Idris usually managed an hour or two before the stubble began. He used to get in trouble for it during basic training because the military liked their soldiers clean-shaven. As for when he took off his shirt… Only one idiot had ever mocked him with Chewbacca noises. Harry had drunk through a straw for months as his jaw healed.

“It could be the transition happened so easily because the subject is more in tune with his animal side and his body was finally ready,” the doctor surmised.

“If that’s the case, then he should be able to shift on demand.” Davidson finally fixed Idris directly with a hard glare. “Change back into a man.”

“Hunh?” A query that emerged as a grunt.

“Change now and you’ll get a cookie as a treat,” the doctor offered.

Snort. While Idris would love a cookie—because the gruel they kept feeding him sucked balls—he didn’t have the slightest clue how to go from a bear back into a man.

“If a needle prick was enough to swap him, let’s see what a little tap does,” Davidson stated, leaving Idris puzzled.

What did he mean by little—

Ow.

The fist smacked Idris square in the snout, and the sharp pain of it made him blink. To his surprise, the throb in his nose went instantly away.

In even better news, Idris was no longer a bear and his restraints loosened as he resumed his normal—human—size. Apparently, the change was bad, since Davidson went on a rant.

“I can’t believe we’ve got another useless fucking failure.” Because a bear who turned into a man at even the slightest discomfort didn’t make a good therianthrope soldier.

In the days following Idris’ first transformation, he spent a lot of time in the labs. Could he handle a punch if it didn’t hurt? Yes, thank his hard noggin for that. Stinging paper cut? Nope. What about stomach cramps? Also nope, and he didn’t appreciate the fact that the laxative they gave had him shitting through the eye of a needle for hours while flipping back and forth from man to beast. A beast without cushiony soft toilet paper.

As time went on, and it became obvious Idris wasn’t what Davidson and Levy had hoped for, he spent more and more time in his cell. Doing pushups. Wondering what would happen to him. Death, most likely, since he couldn’t see Davison agreeing to his release.

When Captain Barrett Wilson came to the rescue—almost earning himself a kiss of gratitude—Idris was more than happy to escape, even as he realized he’d never be truly free. Unlike his friends who’d undergone the same protocol, Idris had to be much more careful, lest people notice his difference. It proved almost impossible. He couldn’t prevent accidents like when he stubbed his toe in the grocery store. He instantly shredded his clothes and, to the screams of those shopping, ran out the door. Thankfully, no one caught his shift on video. Still, the incident led to him relocating from Thunder Bay to Toronto, where he managed to live for a while until an altercation on the subway—that he didn’t start!—had him bear-ing it all. Once more, he got lucky, with the only eyewitness being the drunk who’d accosted him. Still, it led Idris to the realization that he couldn’t live his life like this.

Surely there was a way to control or cure his condition. Google didn’t offer much help, and no matter what terms he used, his searches only provided links to legends featuring ursine shifters. Was there truth in those old fables? He decided to find out.

After acquiring a fake passport, Idris flew to Sweden to see if he could find out the truth behind the most promising lead, the mannbjørn, AKA the man-bear.

Sweden, while pretty, turned out to be a bust. As were the surrounding European countries. During his search for others like him, Idris sought to achieve a measure of control by repeatedly injuring himself in the hopes he’d stop reacting to even the slightest pain. It worked and didn’t. While he no longer shifted when he smacked his funny bone, it still didn’t take much.

Just look at what happened to him in Norway. Twisted his ankle on an uneven piece of sidewalk and bam: instant bear—who unfortunately got caught on camera.

Seeing himself go viral on social media—thankfully with his face not fully visible—made Idris realize he needed to live somewhere a bear wouldn’t seem out of place. Where he could become a recluse and not draw attention. A country that seemingly loved bears.

Now if only he spoke Russian.

Chapter 1

Boris, the portly owner of a bar that provided entertainment on the weekends, came stomping into the backstage area with a glower—his usual expression. “What’s the holdup? Why aren’t you starting the show?”

The brusque tone brought a low growl from the bear sitting docilely by Svetlana’s side, causing Boris to recoil.

“Shouldn’t that thing be on a leash or in a cage?”

“Don’t worry. Yuri won’t eat you.” Svetlana’s lips twitched. “My big teddy bear prefers his meat less fatty.” A less-than-subtle insult that brought ruddy color to Boris’ cheeks.

“If your bear mauls me, you won’t get paid, just like you won’t receive a single ruble until you perform, which better be soon. The crowd is getting restless.”

“I’d think you’d appreciate the anticipation. Bored people tend to order more drinks.”

“Bored drunks tend to get rowdy and break things,” Boris grumbled.

“Wouldn’t want that to happen. Did you want to introduce us, or shall we just pop out and yell surprise?”

“And have them all piss themselves? Bad enough I gotta mop their bad aim in the bathroom. I’ll let them know the show is about to start.” Boris slipped past the dusty dark curtain onto the stage, a grander title than it deserved, given it consisted of a two-by-four frame with plywood screwed on top, slathered in black paint scuffed from the acts that came before. Not exactly a high-end establishment, but, then again, her act tended to appeal more to the working class. Oddly enough, they also tended to be more generous than the rich elite when it came to being entertained.

As Boris went into a grand spiel about the special gig he’d personally engineered, Svetlana glanced at Yuri the bear. “Ready?”

The big furry head bobbed. They’d done this routine so many times they could have performed it in their sleep.

At the sudden clapping, she knew Boris had reached the end of his spiel. By the sounds of it, they’d drawn a decent crowd, mostly thanks to the flyers Svetlana had posted on poles and left at various establishments. Hopefully that resulted in a hefty number of cash tips, which, along with the five percent on drinks and food Boris had offered in lieu of a flat payment, should tide them over for a week or more. If the latter proved lucrative enough, Boris would most likely ask them to do more shows.

The crowd hooted, stomped, and whistled, her cue to step out onto the stage. Unlike some showmen—and women—she didn’t wear flashy clothing or revealing outfits. Black jeans, a T-shirt, and combat boots. She wore minimal makeup and had her dark hair pulled back in a ponytail.

“Evening, ladies and gentlemen, my name is Svetlana,” she shouted, projecting her voice. Silence fell as the attention of those sitting fixed on her. “I hear you’ve come to meet the most amazing bear in the world.”

She waited for the cheering to die down before turning sideways and extending her hand in invitation. “Without further ado, please say hello to Yuri, the most intelligent and cuddliest teddy bear in all of Russia.”

Out lumbered the star of the show, a Eurasian brown bear weighing in at just over three hundred and fifty pounds. The large predator sat down and stared at the people sitting at tables closest to the stage. A few recoiled in fear.

Svetlana clutched the microphone with two hands before saying, “Yuri, can you say hello to the nice people?”

Up came a paw in a wave that had the crowd tittering.

“Yuri is a smart bear who does tricks for vodka. Anyone want to donate their glass?” she asked next.

A man in the front row pushed forward his tumbler.

Svetlana stepped down and grabbed it before returning to the stage and holding it by Yuri’s snout. The bear tilted its head and opened its mouth. Down went the alcohol.

“Since that was only a tiny sip for my big friend, you’ve only earned a small trick. Yuri, would you stand and clap your paws?”

Up went the bear, and the big furry mitts slapped together.

“Make him dance,” someone shouted, holding up a bottle still half-full.

And so it went. People bought drinks just to have Yuri perform. A side-to-side shuffle dance. Turning around in circles. Walking on his paws. Riding a reinforced tricycle. Balancing on a sturdy round ball and then rolling it while keeping his balance. They finished the act with Yuri juggling the empty bottles of vodka he’d downed, enough to send a regular man into a stupor, but not a heavy Russian bear.

At the end of the act, Svetlana presented a box with a hole in the lid for tips and then offered—for a price—the opportunity for people to have their picture taken with Yuri. People lined up, jostling and joking as they waited their turn.

As she stood alongside Yuri, Svetlana couldn’t help but notice the very large brooding man sitting by himself at a table in the corner, his features set in a disapproving scowl. Not the first to judge what she did, nor would he be the last. Over the years, some folks felt it their duty to harangue Svetlana about forcing a bear to act foolishly on command. It didn’t matter that she didn’t harm Yuri or that Yuri showed no hesitation doing as he was told. Some people just had to complain. They proved fewer than those who would pay to be entertained by a bear doing tricks.

Once the last person had their picture taken, Svetlana waved. “Thank you for coming. It’s now time for Yuri to keep me awake with his snoring. Maybe I’ll see you again.” A teasing opening for Boris, who immediately jumped in and yelled, “Svetlana and her amazing bear will be back tomorrow night, so be sure to tell your friends and family. We’ll be serving half-priced borsht for those who come early.”

Svetlana waved once more before heading into the wings with Yuri following at her heels, docile as a dog, which tended to disturb some people who expected a bear to be kept in a cage at all times.

They headed out the rear entrance into the alley where she’d parked her very large truck. A Ural-43206, formerly owned by the military. She’d picked it up at an auction, liking the massive cargo space that could handle lots of weight. Since they were constantly on the move, she’d converted the inside of it into a home for her and Yuri.

Before she could reach the truck, a group of men turned into the laneway, obviously drunk, given how they staggered while singing loudly off-key. They immediately noticed her and began catcalling.

“Hey, sexy. In the mood to party?” shouted the tallest of the group.

Svetlana didn’t reply and kept striding for her vehicle, which, unfortunately, brought her closer to the group.

“What kind of dog is that?” A young man, tubbier than his friends, pointed.

“That’s not a dog, idyot,” scoffed the tall guy. “That’s a bear.”

Which then led to a predictable group-repeating of, “A bear!”

The men ogled for only a second before breaking into loping gaits to get closer.

“Is it real?”

“Must be a costume.”

“He’s a fat fucker,” a comment that led to Yuri growling softly.

To avoid the hands about to reach and touch, Svetlana stood in front of Yuri with crossed arms. “Don’t come any closer or you risk antagonizing my furry friend.”

“Friend?” snorted one with greasy hair as he waved around a bottle hidden in a brown paper bag.

“Yes, friend.”

One of them mimed a blow job before snickering, “Is that how you get him to do tricks?”

“Hey, get a picture of me petting it,” Tubby said as he attempted to step around Svetlana. She stepped between the guy and Yuri.

“That’s not a good idea. If you want a picture, then come to our show tomorrow night.”

“Or you can move aside and let me do it now,” slurred the man, apparently a cue for his friend to grab her arm.

Big mistake.

Yuri stood and growled, but the drunken morons didn’t clue in on the danger.

“Ooh, he’s taller than you, Andrei,” crowed Tubby.

“He’s meaner as well, so I suggest you all back off.” Svetlana tugged her arm free.

“Or what?” sneered Andrei, leaning close enough she practically got drunk from his fume-riddled breath.

Smack.

Yuri cuffed Andrei upside the head and sent him reeling.

“Hey!” shouted Tubby. “Your bear attacked my friend.”

“You’re welcome. I usually charge for fights.” Svetlana’s dry reply.

Andrei picked himself up from the ground and glared. “I’m going to report you and that beast as being dangerous.”

“Go right ahead,” Svetlana dared even as she held in a sigh. So much for sticking around a few weeks doing shows. She had no interest in dealing with the authorities.

“You can’t go to the police,” whispered the third of their group. “You’re supposed to be on house arrest.”

Andrei blinked. “Oh yeah. Maybe we should head back to my place. I have more vodka.”

As quickly as they’d accosted, the trio of men left, and Svetlana let out her sigh. At least they wouldn’t report her, meaning she could spend a few more days in this town before moving on. She glanced at Yuri. “Good job not knocking him out this time.”

Yuri tended to react a tad violently when she was threatened. Warranted, but those accosted didn’t usually agree.

“Let’s get out of here before we run into more trouble.”

Svetlana held open the flap on the back of the truck, and Yuri climbed in. She then slid into the driver seat and started the engine, the vibration of the motor rattling her teeth. They didn’t drive long before reaching the RV park where she’d rented a spot for the week. She might extend their stay depending on how the shows went.

Before she headed off to the public bathing facilities, Svetlana poked her head in the back of the truck. Yuri lay where’d collapsed on the rug, snoring off the booze. She’d begun allowing him to drink a few years ago when the bars started offering her a percentage of receipts. Nothing like bumping that number by having the crowd buying vodka just to see a bear getting drunk.

She bathed quickly and returned to the truck, only to pause at the tailgate as a gruff voice said, “We need to talk about your bear.”

To which she replied by whirling and throwing a fist. Might as well have hit a wall.

The very large man—the brooding one from the bar—arched a brow and mockingly said, “Ouch?”