Free Polar Bared by Eve Langlais

colored spots.
    Dazed and her cheek throbbing, Vicky lay on the floor, squinting in the gloom, straining to grasp what was happening. The soft glow of her nightlight let her see two, or was that three, figures looming over her. Nope, it was just one, Shorty, friends with Mullet, who was currently wielding a knife and shredding her tent.
    Before she could gather her wits to yell again, fabric was stuffed into her mouth, and Shorty booted her in the ribs with a snapped, “Don’t make this any harder than it has to be.”
    Well excuse me for not going quietly to my death.
    What do you know? She had an ounce of spunk in her after all. Gene would have been so proud. Pity she’d have little time to celebrate it.
    Hole accomplished in the back of her tent—which cost her a small fortune!—they seemed intent on dragging her out of it, in her nightclothes where she’d probably freeze to death before they had a chance to kill her.
    “Wait a second,” whispered Shorty. “If we’re supposed to make this look like a bear got her shouldn’t we have some blood? You know, on account of the claws and stuff.”
    Her eyes widened, and not just because the pair turned to look at her, the silver gleam of the knife in Mullet’s hand ominous.
    Worrisome, but it paled in comparison to another problem.
    It seemed they wouldn’t need to fake her demise by polar bear because looming over them was her friend from the sea ledge. Old Scarface himself, which funnily enough made her think of Gene, who also sported a similar identifying mark.
    The towering polar menace opened his mouth but waited until the two wanna-be murderers turned to peek at what had her goggling in fright.
    The polar bear roared, and this time, Vicky didn’t fight the faint but dove toward it.

Chapter Eleven
    Not for the first time, Gene questioned what the hell he was doing spying on Vicky’s tent. She wasn’t his concern.
    She needs our protection.
    No, she was a distraction he could ill afford.
    She was a temptation that called to him.
    She was…under attack?
    While a part of him had used the excuse of guarding her as a reason to remain nearby, another part of him never truly believed she was in danger. Yet, there was no denying that the dark figure at the back of the tent, busily slicing at the fabric, meant no good.
    The perpetrator also wasn’t alone, or so the brief scream abruptly cut short indicated. Gene didn’t need to hear Vicky’s cry of distress to get moving. At the first sign of trouble, his bear ass was lumbering down the icy hillock he’d chosen as his watchtower.
    I should have never left her alone. He should have known better. His enemies must have spotted his interaction with Vicky and now sought to use her against him. Like fuck. He’d soon show them the error of their ways. No mercy. No second chance.
    Arriving at the bottom of the slope, he treaded more cautiously, intent on taking the arguing pair by surprise.
    Vicky lay at their feet, half in, half out of the tent, eyes wide with fright— look at that, she’s still awake!— while the bastards discussed bleeding her to make it seem like a polar attack. Oh the irony.
    I’ll show them what a real polar attack looks like.
    On silent paws, Gene approached and stood. He noted the moment Vicky saw him. It caught the bastards’ attention too. They turned. Their jaws dropped. He saw the whites of their eyes, which practically popped from their heads.
    And when he roared? At least one of them pissed himself.
    Awesome.
    But not as awesome as the pleasure he got out of swiping at them with paws tipped in curved claws.
    “Holy—” was all one got to say before Gene’s blow sent him flying while the other one tried to dive back into Vicky’s damaged tent. He didn’t move fast enough. Gene yanked him, and while he preferred a fresh sea catch as a meal, in this case, he made an exception. It took only a chomp to end that life.
    But he didn’t stop to enjoy this fresh snack. Not with the other