Can't Bear to Run - Lynn Red

Can’t Bear to Run

Kendal Creek Part 1

An alpha werebear romance

Lynn Red

(c) 2015 Lynn Red

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Also by Lynn Red

Jamesburg Shifter Romance

Bear Me Away (Alpha Werebear Shifter Paranormal Romance)

Kendal Creek Bears

Can't Bear To Run

The Broken Pine Bears

Two Bears are Better Than One (Alpha Werebear Paranormal Romance)

Between a Bear and a Hard Place (Alpha Werebear Romance)

The Jamesburg Shifters

Bearing It All (Alpha Werebear Shifter Paranormal Romance)

Bear With Me (Alpha Werebear Shifter Paranormal Romance)

Bearly Breathing (Alpha Werebear Shifter Paranormal Romance)

Bearly Hanging On

Bear Your Teeth (Alpha Werebear Paranormal Shifter Romance)

The Jamesburg Shifters Volume 2

The Jamesburg Shifters Volume 1 (BBW Alpha Werewolf Werebear Paranormal Romance)

To Catch a Wolf (BBW Werewolf Shifter Romance)


Lion In Wait (A Paranormal Alpha Lion Romance)

Werewolf Wedding

Horns for the Harem Girl

Watch for more at Lynn Red’s site.

Table of Contents

Title Page

Also By Lynn Red


-1- | Killer Karaoke

-2- | Six Years Can Feel Like Forever

-3- | Beared Up And Ready To Rumble

-4- | When it Rains, It Pours

-5- | Just the Facts, Ma’am

-6- | And sometimes, it ALL goes down the river

-7- | It’s All Worth It

-8- | Of All The Damn Places...

-9- | Serious as a Bear Attack

-10- | From Colorado, With Love

-11- | No Time Like This Time

-12- | Night blind

-13- | Definitely The Bad Side of the Tracks

-14- | Smells Like... Victory?

-15- | This Shit Will NOT Fly!

-16- | Guns a-blazin’

-17- | Hasta La Vista

-18- | Rocky Mountain High

-19- | Laundry Hampers And Lovin’

-20- | Not Long Now

Excerpt from Can’t Bear To Hide (Kendal Creek #2) | 1

Lion in Wait

Bearly Hanging On

To Catch a Wolf

Two Bears are Better than One

Further Reading: Bearing It All (Alpha Werebear Shifter Paranormal Romance)

Also By Lynn Red

About the Author

For all my readers - thank you!


Killer Karaoke

Like most all of my greatest mistakes, it began with a rousing karaoke rendition of a Michael Bolton song.

My friends – Karen, Matt and Dan – and I had been warming seats at Finnegan’s Irish Pub for about six hours at that point, and to say I was “lubricated” is an understatement. It was a busy Friday at the pub, but nothing out of the ordinary. There are, to be sure, no shortage of bars in Boston, but this one was ours and we held onto it with an iron fist. We owned this damn place, especially on karaoke night.

Okay, to be more accurate, I owned the damn place. At least for the four minutes at a time that I was the rock star I always should’ve been.

“Raine Matthews!” the overly excited DJ announced. “You’re up!”

With a final, decisive swig of beer, I exchanged a very serious nod with Karen, and made my way to the stage, not knowing what I was about to sing. That’s how the real masters do it – your drunk friends sign you up for whatever they think you won’t be able to sing, and then you show them up.

Blood pumped through my temples. Adrenaline coursed through my veins, flaring every single nerve in my body into a state I can only describe as “just this side of ecstasy” and I stepped up to the mic.

Tugging at the waist of my jeans, which had somehow ridden down just far enough to reveal the beginning of my ass crack, I steeled myself. My ill-made pony tail rested against the back of my open collar, a tendril of dark brown curl hanging down the side of my face. I was sweating before the song came up.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Raine Matthews, local karaoke legend, with Michael Bolton’s How Am I Supposed to Live Without You!”

My stomach hit the floor and I shot a nasty glare at Karen and Matt.

“Michael-fucking-Bolton,” I sneered, accidentally into the mic. Half the audience looked really offended, and half of them started laughing uncontrollably. You never can tell with fans of the Bolton.

I laughed, nervously, as the first bars of dramatic piano music plonked along, and by the time I was about to open my mouth to bolt out those lines that could only come from the 1980s, I saw Dan staring at me.

It wasn’t a normal stare. It wasn’t the stare of someone waiting to see their friend make an idiot of themselves. It was a hungry stare. His pale blue eyes were narrowed just enough to make the corners of his eyes crinkle a bit. The laugh lines on