Beloved by the Bear: A Shifters in Love Fun & Flirty Romance (Mystic Bay Book 3)

by Isadora Montrose

  He hobbled into the bathroom to freshen up before putting on his prosthetic. It was a familiar routine that took no time at all. Naturally, he missed his left foot. But it had become his normal.

  He pulled the curtains open and gazed out at the vista. The water below his cottage was reflecting the morning sun onto the thin dark-green smudge of the next island over. The sun was rising behind his cottage. The pink dawn sky was streaked with the sort of clouds destined to blow off before long. Another lovely day. He felt eager for some exercise. He could go for a run, or a swim.

  Might as well take advantage of being on West Haven to take bear and swim in the ocean. It was bound to be freezing cold even close to shore, but in bear he could handle the cold. Back in Denver he swam regularly in the pool – in human. With only one foot, swimming as a man was awkward. Prosthetics still weren’t designed to be submerged. But in bear even three-footed he could recapture some of the old pleasure and vigor.

  Ten minutes later he scrambled on his three good legs down the long wooden staircase that connected the cliff top to the beach. Someone had carefully removed the last five or six steps in preparation for the winter storms. He turned around and descended the rocks backwards. The pink had faded from the ocean and sky. Dark waves rolled in under a pale blue sky. Perfect.

  The beach fell off abruptly into deep water. It was ice-cold, but the wind was barely moving. And he had expected the water to be brisk. This was the Pacific after all. He didn’t have to go out far before he could dive and swim. In his fur coat, it took a few moments for the cold to penetrate. If he kept moving he would be warm enough for a good long while.

  He kept following the shoreline, enjoying the scenery and stretching his muscles. Underwater, he kept both eyes open to admire the varied fish living amongst the rocks. He probably wouldn’t see a whale this close to the shore, but those peach-colored blobby critters were exotic enough for a boy from the backwoods. He had never seen anything like them before.

  Of course he knew the names of every species that lived in the rivers back home in Washington State, but most of the fish here were strangers to him. His mouth watered, a side effect of being in bear, but he wasn’t sure if Mystic Bay’s no hunting rule applied to fish, so he restrained himself.

  Movement caught his eye. Directly ahead of him a shoal of silvery fish scattered and broke as a larger fish swam among them. His heart stuttered and then beat faster. Stroking toward him with graceful arms and an undulating iridescent tail was his mate. She looked unsurprised to see him. His lungs burned. He broke the surface, gulped air, and dove back down.

  His mermaid blinked her green eyes at him and somersaulted backward, luring him with a flick of her bluish-green tail. He plunged after her. She was too fast for him. Besides she didn’t have to keep surfacing to breathe. She had gills on the sides of her neck. She circled him teasingly, darting and dancing among the rocks and anemones.

  Serena was as beautiful as any anemone. More beautiful. Her strong pink arms moved as gracefully as the tentacles of those sea creatures. Her rainbow-colored hair was confined in a braid that floated behind her like a second tail. And her magnificent rack was secured in an incongruous black and white polka dot bra. Pity. On second thought, it was a good thing. No other male ought to glimpse his mate’s naked breasts.

  He was out of air again. He rose and breathed. Serena’s head broke the surface. Water beaded on long lashes. Her ruby lips were smiling. “Anton?” she asked.

  He nodded. In bear he was restricted to the utterances of his kind. He didn’t think he could woo a fish-woman with the woofles and pants that a she-bear would find alluring. Serena’s eyes blinked slowly, consideringly. She dove down and circled him. Well, she had to know eventually. Better sooner than later. He braced for her reaction.

  She spent a long time examining his hindquarters. He felt the soft brush of her fingers against his stump. The Improvised Incendiary Device had blown his left foot off at the ankle. His silicone prosthesis replaced both that joint and his foot with a pretty good imitation of the real thing. Although it was connected to his stump by a metal rod that looked nothing like an ankle.

  Unless he wore the flexible one designed for running, in shoes and long pants, it looked much like his right foot, minus the hair. In bear he had a neat, well-healed amputation. Didn’t bother him, and if it bothered her, Serena was not the woman for him.

  Still he held his breath waiting for her verdict. Up here on the surface of the ocean, her enticing scent lingered temptingly in the damp air. Beneath the waves he couldn’t smell her at all. Not surprising since he had to hold his breath. How had he gotten so lucky as to find a mate who smelled like a sex goddess?

  She bobbed up in front of him, green eyes sparkling, lips curving softly. “War wound?” Her voice was as gentle as the murmuring of the sea.

  He nodded.

  She touched his big shoulder and darted away, calling over her shoulder, “You’re it.”

  He swam after her, knowing catching her was utterly hopeless. Even if he had had all four paws, no bear was ever going to catch a mermaid. But the chase was exhilarating. She returned several times to tag him, eventually leading him back to Sunflower. Or at least to the strip of beach beneath his cottage.

  “You better get out,” she said. “Otherwise you’ll freeze.”

  Not a chance. He was hot right to his core. He desperately wanted to take human and carry her off to his bed. But if he did, he would be doing no carrying. Anton Benoit, footless veteran, was not going to stride up that cliff with his mate in his arms. Anyway, although her eyes were bright with female interest, it was probably too soon for caveman antics.

  He began his scramble up the rocks. Probably not beauty in motion, but he was strong enough to be swift. He turned at the lowest step and looked for her. She waved a hand and dove. Dripping wet and beginning to chill, he watched for her, but she did not reappear.

  He gave a vigorous shake that sent water flying in all directions, before bounding upward to his rental. It was hard to say just what had happened. But he was more convinced than ever that this woman was his one and only. Did she share his certainty?

  CHAPTER SIX

  Serena~

  What on earth or sea had driven her to play tag with a bear? Anton Benoit in his dress uniform looked halfway civilized. In pressed jeans and plaid shirt he was a far cry from the metrosexual men she had believed she was attracted to.

  In his black bear form he was formidable and alien. Muscular, swift, and athletic. It was true that even if his left hind paw wasn’t missing, he couldn’t possibly have caught her in the water, but predators didn’t need speed to catch their prey. Outsmarting worked too.

  He could be planning an ambush even as he trotted obediently back to his cottage. She didn’t think he had any way of knowing where she habitually entered the ocean. But the Merryman cabana was no classified secret. She and her relatives regularly used it to change and slip into the water. And Anton’s big blue truck was parked right outside it like a placard saying SERENA INSIDE.

  If he was planning to attack, she ought to be scared. Heaven knew she vamoosed fast enough whenever she smelled orcas in the water. Killer whales were ungodly beautiful, but their teeth were steak knives, and merfolk were always on the menu. Just one of the reasons her ancestors had moved to West Haven.

  Unfortunately nothing about Anton frightened her. He made her feel lovely. Desirable. Fascinating. And safe. Either she was deluded or under a spell. When those big white teeth closed around her, would the illusion vanish?

  She reached the algae-covered stones that served as the steps up into the cabana and shifted back to human to tackle them. The little bathing house was sub-divided into two change rooms, each equipped with a tiled shower. Nothing fancy, but it was nice to be able to rinse off the salt under a warm spray. She cleaned up and shampooed her hair. Dried it with the hair dryer on the wall.

  Her grandmothers had dyed their multicolored hair brown in order to fit i
n with humans. So did Mom. But Serena’s generation scorned to conceal their natural color. Her hair ran largely to pastel pink and green with hints of blue and violet. Unbound, it reached past her hips in a froth of sparkling curls. She usually kept it in a bun or a braid for convenience. And covered with a hairnet at work.

  All the time she was showering and primping she was thinking about Anton. About those big rough hands and how they would feel on her smooth softness. About his smell. He didn’t smell like her people, that was for sure. But he smelled right. Sexy. Masculine. Infinitely desirable. As if he was the one man set on earth for her.

  Longing dampened her pits and pussy and made her nipples clench. Which was plain ridiculous. He was a bear. A bear from away. No mer-person could be happy away from the ocean – not for long. He was a grown man. He had a life elsewhere. He wasn’t going to stick around on this tiny island. Whatever was simmering between them was doomed from the start.

  But a girl could dream. What would it be like to take a brawny bear lover? Was he furry in human too? Mermen were slick as seals – as she was. Fantasies rushed hot and vivid through her mind, tinting her cheeks pink. She smoothed her hair back and piled it loosely on top of her head before she stepped into her sandals.

  She didn’t have to work today, but she did have to return Anton’s truck. She could just park it behind Sunflower and leave the keys at the front desk. But that would be both cowardly and discourteous. Of course, discretion was the better part of valor, wasn’t it?

  In the end, he made up her mind for her. He was sitting on the front steps of Sunflower when she pulled up. He waved. She could hardly drive off again with his vehicle. She parked and joined him. He was whittling a scrap of bleached driftwood. He had dressed and was wearing shoes. Two. Obviously he wore a prosthesis.

  “Good morning,” he said as gravely as if they had not been swimming together half an hour ago. But his brown eyes twinkled.

  “Good morning. What’s that going to be?”

  He smiled. Just a quirk of well-shaped lips. “Well, now,” he drawled. “I don’t rightly know.” A trace of hillbilly flickered in his accent. “I started out whittling me a mermaid, but it seems to want to be a bear.”

  “Does it?”

  “Hmm.”

  West Haven was chockablock with artists of every variety. She was used to their creative temperaments. “Do you always let the wood make your decisions?”

  His serious brown eyes met hers. Once again she registered his heavy dark unibrow. It added gravity to his face. And masculinity. Complemented that hard, square jaw. Her belly muscles clenched.

  “I’ve never carved a love token before,” he said.

  “A love token?”

  “Powerful bear magic.” He was serious. He held out the tiny object on one giant calloused palm.

  She touched it with a tentative forefinger. It was warm from his hands. Almost hot. Bulgy, unformed, and yet somehow a proto-bear. “Do bears work magic?”

  He shrugged. A robust rippling of muscle under his button-front shirt. “We do in my clan.” His voice became deeper and darker. “When Jacques Benoit came into our hills he brought a Salish woman with him. My Uncle Pierre always says that she was even more powerful than her husband.”

  “Are you Indian?”

  He shrugged. “Partly anyway. Jacques Benoit was a Frenchman from Canada. A voyageur. That’s what the French called the fur traders. They thought of themselves as French, but they took country wives – Indian women. For sure Jacques was Métis himself. His bride, the Salish woman, came from one of the tribes on the West Coast of Canada. And their children didn’t have anyone to marry except the Yakima Indians. I’d say that makes me Métis too.”

  “Why do you call her the Salish woman? Didn’t she have a name of her own?”

  He shrugged and attempted an explanation. “She did. Some say it was Sarah, and others Mary. But that wasn’t the name her people gave her. That one was a secret and it died with her.”

  “Oh. How long ago was this?”

  He shrugged again. “Two or three hundred years. Before there was a USA or Washington State. Or any kind of recordkeeping that wasn’t the front page of a bible. Most of what we know isn’t history but family lore.”

  “Oh.”

  His hand closed her fingers around his unfinished carving. Electricity shot through her into the carving. The wood pulsed with energy. She struggled to open her hand and he took his away at once.

  The grayish lump was a perfectly ordinary piece of driftwood. Had she imagined that shock wave? She handed it back to him, but her hand continued pulsing as if she had touched a live wire.

  “I brought you your keys. I didn’t want you to miss the ferry.” She held them out. “Thank you for lending me your truck.”

  “Ferry’s not leaving until 1200 hours,” he reminded her. “And you are most welcome to anything of mine you need.”

  She lowered her eyes at his suggestive tone. He patted the top step where no shavings curled. She sat down beside him and watched his clever fingers.

  “Why do you need a love charm?” she blurted.

  “I don’t know. But here I am, whittling one just the same.” His big fingers moved with surprising delicacy. Incising a line here, flaking off a minute curl there.

  “What makes it magic?” Was she really flirting with a bear?

  “My intentions, I think.” All playfulness had vanished from his voice. “This is a serious business, Miss Serena. I give you fair warning. You are my fate. And I am yours. If you run, I’ll chase.”

  “Is that a threat? There’s no hunting on West Haven.” Her voice was a sultry purr.

  “No threat intended. Pure promise. I’d never harm you. And does that no-hunting thing include mate hunting?”

  “Mate hunting?”

  “When a fellow decides he needs a bride, he goes looking for her. Can’t rightly call what I’m doing a mate hunt, though. Hunt’s over. I’ve found my bride.”

  “Oh,” she squeaked. Was he for real? “I can’t live anywhere but here, you know?” she warned him.

  “For a fact?” His calm voice was merely curious.

  “The Strait of San Juan de Fuca is my home. Merfolk can’t venture far from the sea.”

  “What about that Bock? Wasn’t he from away?”

  “Massachusetts has plenty of ocean shoreline,” she pointed out. “Bock just changed East Coast for West.”

  He grunted. “My people are from up in the Cascades. In Washington State. It’s all forests and streams there. But in French Town we’re not even close to the sea.”

  He nodded as if he had come to a decision, gave a final twist to his knife and handed her a tiny, smiling bear with four powerful limbs, but only three paws. The rear left one was missing.

  “Is this you?”

  “Yup.” He dusted off his lap and folded his pocketknife deliberately before rising to his feet. “Just remember to take care of that. You’re holding my heart.” His hands reached for her elbows.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Anton~

  He had wanted to kiss Serena since he first laid eyes on her. Okay. What his instincts pressured him to do was jump her bones, but fortunately he possessed some self-control. A fellow didn’t just throw his mate down on the ground and screw her. That was no way to do. But his cock was so importunate he felt like a raw adolescent just discovering what his third leg was for.

  At least he hadn’t communicated his rough urgency to his little mate. Serena was gazing up at him with curious green eyes alight with feminine wonder. Even in a bun her hair glinted like a punk rocker’s. He made sure he only used sufficient force to bring her to her feet and hold her steady on the steps against his heart.

  He kissed her softly, gently. Reminding himself every step of the way that only last night she had been assaulted. If ever a woman needed respect, Serena Merryman did. Her lips parted slightly under his and she relaxed and trusted him not to let her fall. He tasted her breath. The sheer delig
ht of her fragrance and presence went straight to his heart.

  They stood like that, softly kissing and sharing their breath until the sound of a leaf blower had them springing apart. Serena would have stumbled on the top step, but he had her safe. Somehow his hands had found her waist. He left off squeezing and savoring the supple muscles and tender flesh there and lifted her onto the porch.

  She was staring appalled at the fellow with the leaf blower.

  “Big gossip is he?” Anton asked wryly. He was from a small town too. In French Town, two people canoodling on a cabin porch would spark some fierce chitchat down at the diner. Especially if one of them was from out of town.

  Serena laughed and primmed her lips. “Certainly not. George Greene is a respectable member of this community. He won’t tell anyone but his wife, and his fellow workers, and maybe the boss.”

  Exactly like French Town. “We’re not doing anything wrong,” he pointed out. “At least, I’m not. I’m not married or engaged or in a relationship.” He made it both a pledge and an unspoken question.

  “Me either. But everyone has been sure that Jerome and I were destined for each other.” Her voice trailed away.

  Outrage simmered in his veins. “You and Bock? Were you two dating?” Down, boy.

  She shook her head. Pink and green and streaky yellow light flashed from her unusual hair. “Nope. But my dad was all for the match and folks naturally expected that to influence me.”

  “Bossy is he?”

  “Dad? You might say so.” Her throat moved convulsively. “My father is the mer-king.”

  “King of the mer-people?”

  “Yup. At least of the ones from around here. We pretty much do as he tells us.”

  “Does that make you a princess?”

  She shook her head again. Her laugh rippled out like the lapping of water over rocks. “Not so much. This is America. I’m just plain old Serena Merryman.”