by Amy Star
*
Jane woke up the next morning in Vincent’s suite. It was the mirror image of her own and Vincent had chosen to keep the blindingly white bedding Mezzanotte had in all of the hotel suites, though that was the only thing that let Jane know they were still in the hotel. The walls of Vincent’s bedroom had been painted a deep green and the walls were lined with pin-up art of various mediums. There were sketches, lithographs, oil paintings, and photographs. They must have ranged in age from the early twentieth century through current times. The odd thing was, if Jane had to guess, she’d say that they were all done by the same artist.
She rolled her eyes thinking that the sex must have messed with her mind. There was no physical way the same artist could have done them all, the art spanned at least three generations. Getting out of bed, Jane pulled a sheet to wrap around herself as she moved to get a better look at the art. Her eyes flicked around the composition of a sketch that looked to date back to the 1930’s. Now that she was close to the piece it was obvious that it couldn’t be called a pin-up. The woman in question was curvaceous and posed from an angle that early pin-ups were posed in, but in reality it was simply an erotic sketch of a woman. Her eyes flicking around the edges of the work she noted the faded imprint of V.M. in the bottom right hand corner.
Moving around the room, it looked as though Vincent was tracing the birth and evolution of the pin-up. The weird thing was, they were all signed with the same initials: V.M. Jane’s gut sent out a warning. Something didn’t feel right about the fact that the initials were all the same, and that they happened to be Vincent’s. Jane’s rational mind suggested that the initials were simply a coincidence and that it was possible that the work was from a family of artists, all named the same, or with the same initials; a turn of the century Kardashian clan perhaps.
Vincent knocked lightly on the door frame and looked at Jane warily. He was shirtless and had a tray of breakfast that he set down on a coffee table in front of a small seating area in the corner of the room around the earliest of the art. Jane thought that perhaps he was unsure of what her reaction would be “the morning after,” but in truth, Jane felt lighter than air. It was as if the act had filled a void in her she hadn’t been aware was there. Having Vincent inside of her made her feel complete on more than just a physical level and Jane was still high on the feeling of love it gave her.
“Jane, would you sit down with me, please?” Vincent asked once he had their breakfast all set out.
“Yes, that smells yummy,” Jane responded walking toward the couch, trailing the sheet behind her.
Vincent watched as she came toward him in all of her bedheaded glory. The sheet that had been hastily thrown around her was tempting him to simply tug it away to better enjoy the view. But last night had put the final nail in the coffin. He had to have this conversation with Jane now. Vincent should have had it before they had mated, but these things couldn’t be stopped.
Jane sat on the couch, securely tucking the sheet around her and tucking her feet underneath. Reaching out for her cup of coffee, Jane looked at him with bright eyes and Vincent couldn’t help it, the story was going to burst out of him. He opened his mouth to say something poetic like, I’m a 100-year-old bear, but Jane beat him to the punch.
“I was looking at your art collection. I thought you might have collected it as a way to trace the evolution of the “pin-up” style of portrait, but the closer I got, the more I noticed that it appears to be done in the same family of artists. Am I right? They’re all signed with the same initials. That has to be an amazing story.”
Jane turned back toward Vincent, taking a sip of coffee and obviously settling in to hear the tale. Well, Vincent thought, this was as good of an opening as any.
“Actually Jane, they’re all done by the same artist.”
Jane frowned. “Huh, I would have guessed that they were from a more diverse age range than that.” Jane gestured to the sketches they sat in front of. “I would have thought that these were early twentieth century by their style. Did the artist just want to do a retrospective? Tracing a false history?”
“No, you were spot on. These were done in the 1930’s and the latest is from just this past year.” Vincent kept as still as possible, his eyes trained on Jane, trying to gauge her reaction.
Jane’s eyebrows furrowed. “But, that’s impossible,” she countered slowly, Vincent could practically see her doing the math over and over again in her head.
Vincent reached out and took the coffee cup from Jane. He had no desire to wash coffee stains out of his sofa. “Jane, they were all done by me. They’re my work.”
At this, Jane’s face cleared and she swatted at Vincent. “Oh, you really had me going there for a minute.” Jane looked him up and down, her eyes suggestively lingering on his ab muscles. “There is no way you’re over the age of thirty, my friend. Though your ability to recreate the style of each time period suggests you’re quite talented. How did you manage it?”
Vincent watched as Jane scanned the room again looking at the progression of his artistic technique. Vincent had always been drawn to art. Early on, he’d fiddled around with various mediums and subjects, but the female form had been what held him rapt. Even through the ages that had loved thin, slim women, Vincent stayed devoted to the curvaceous, seeking out models to pose for him. When pin-ups became one of the first American traditional tattoos to hit the mainstream, Vincent found his calling. It offered him the opportunity to let his imagination run wild, inking women in every theme imaginable. Looking around the room he felt a pride in that he had built on the idea of the female form, moving from traditional erotic art all the way through the modern image. He’d never thought of his collection as having value beyond his own enjoyment.
Focusing again on Jane, he needed to continue with his sharing of secrets. Now that they had been intimate, his instincts didn’t want her to leave his bed. Not for the first time that morning he mentally kicked himself for not breaking the news to her earlier. He’d spent too much time trying to avoid the fact that he’d found his mate rather than preparing for it. There was no way this wasn’t getting bumbled.
“Jane, I want you to look at me,” Vincent said seriously, drawing her attention again. “I have to tell you something and I swear it’s the truth. I wish I would’ve told you earlier, you asked me again and again and I avoided it. But, I need you to understand I did each of those drawings in the time period you think they were done in. I’m over 100 years old Jane.”
Jane’s mouth popped open into a little O of surprise. Vincent paused a beat, waiting for Jane to respond, but she just sat there, holding the sheet and blinking. “The clan is a werebear clan. That’s why we use all of the bear terminologies. I can turn into a bear and our species lives to be an average of 300 years. I can show you if you’d like, but Jane, your silence is worrying me.” Vincent dropped to his knees and took her free hand in both of his. “I was expecting screaming, laughter, some emotional outburst...I don’t want you to faint Jane, you have to let me know you’re OK.”
Behind Jane’s eyes, her head was spinning. This man, the best man she’d ever known, the man she’d just had perfect, wild sex with, wasn’t a man? Her brain couldn’t quite wrap around that fact. But it was far easier to accept the clan part. Since her first day of work, she’d been calling the clan stuff “bears” and it almost made her feel better to have an answer to all the questions. Jane had thought she was either going crazy or that it was far worse, something illegal like the mafia or gangs. She was comfortable with the knowledge if she didn’t think too closely about the physical bit.
Jane looked into Vincent’s eyes. His large body was kneeling on the floor in front of her and he looked about ready to commit suicide if this went poorly. Immediately, Jane’s heart warmed, she extended a hand to his face without thinking; wanting to comfort him instinctively. Vincent nuzzled her hand, but the worry didn’t leave his eyes, so Jane spoke even though she wasn’t quite sure what to say. “Wel
l, the bear thing doesn’t surprise me.” Jane watched as Vincent’s eyes got huge with surprise. “I mean I’m surprised about the werebear thing...but not the bear thing. You guys use a lot of bear phrases in your emails. I guess I can’t wrap my head around the physical stuff or the age thing. I see a thirty-year-old man in front of me. A very large man, but a man all the same. Is it, uh, like a werewolf thing? Light of the full moon and stuff like that?” Jane asked tucking her hair behind her ears.
Vincent was still regarding her warily as if at any minute she might go into shock or hysteria. He seemed to be having as much trouble with her calm as Jane was having with the idea he would turn into a bear. “No, it’s not anything determined by the moon. I wasn’t bitten. We’re a species, a very old hybrid of two mammals. I can change into a bear whenever I desire. It doesn’t hurt and I don’t need to change if I don’t want to. Though, about once a month we go on camp outs in the desert and allow ourselves to roam freely. It feels better to let the bear out on a regular basis. Like getting in touch with a part of yourself. Almost like if you didn’t sketch for a long period of time. You’d be itching to do it, but there wouldn’t be a physical need or pain. Just a feeling of loss in not expressing yourself.”
Jane nodded in understanding. She sketched on a daily basis if she could. Doing so let her mind wander and reset, as well as provided her with an outlet for her emotions. She could connect with that idea. “But the age thing, don’t people get suspicious?”
Vincent tilted his head back and forth in a “sorta” expression. “The clans tend to live in high transient areas. Places like Las Vegas, New York, Miami, etc., where it’s rare to have multiple generations living in the same place; people assume that we’re children if they come back and recognize us. Other than that, essential people are told about the clan. Also, in the grand scheme of 300 years many of us will choose to move around. I’m a little different because I’ll be the leader of the clan after my father steps down. I’m in Las Vegas to stay.”
Jane nodded. “Yes, I gathered you were being groomed for that,” she said before leaning back onto the couch and sighing. “Vincent come sit on the couch. I don’t think you’re going to bite, but I’m not going to be 100% OK with this within the next five minutes. It’s going to take time.”
Vincent sat on the couch and gathered Jane in his arms. “Do you need to see it to believe it?”
Jane paused, thinking about the offer before she responded. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings, but she really wasn’t ready to see it in action. “I think I need some time to sort through what you’ve just told me. When I’m ready, I’ll ask to see the change. But for now, I think I’m just going to work on accepting it, and if you wouldn’t mind answering my questions…” Jane trailed off looking up at Vincent.
Vincent leaned down and kissed Jane on her forehead. “Not at all. Ask away.”
“Actually, I don’t know that I have any questions at the moment. Maybe I’ll just finish my breakfast and ask when they come to me? Like right now I’m wondering what you eat as a bear?”
Vincent reached forward for the pancakes. “I could eat this, but I prefer fresh fish and foliage from the area. As a bear, it’s easier to find the resources out there than as a human. You’d be surprised at the bounty.”
“Huh,” Jane said around a bit of maple syrup. “And you’re going to take over the clan? What will happen to Midnight Ink?”
Vincent sighed. “I’m hoping to do both. At least keep my foot in the world of tattooing. I don’t know what I would do without my art. I may have to transfer ownership to Xavier or another clan member when I officially become leader, but I’m hoping to always own Midnight Ink and tattoo from here. It’s always been my baby,” he finished honestly.
“Then I don’t think you should give it up. It’s all about scheduling your time correctly,” Jane said with a smile.
Vincent smiled back and then frowned down at his phone when it began to ring. Checking the number, his face grew serious “I’m sorry Jane, I have to take this.”
Jane watched Vincent’s broad back retreat out of the room. It was covered with a huge piece that looked to be a scene with a bear and birds flying free. She hadn’t noticed it last night. Only thinking that his front was devoid of tattoos, which was odd for a tattoo artist. It seemed as though he had made up for it with his back.
Standing up, she decided to get dressed and ready for the day. Huge life shocks aside, she needed to check all the emails and coordinate anything new on the agendas. God knew with these bears there was always a last minute change.
Out in the living room, Vincent was listening to the board members talking over each other. There had been another “incident”; no one was calling it an attack. Again, it was the neighboring werebear clan. This time it was a different set of bears, not cubs, who had started a bar fight in an outlying locals bar. It wasn’t anywhere near the territory lines, instead the bar had been miles inside of Mezzanotte territory. Other clans were allowed to visit and enjoy other clan’s territories, but it was odd that something like a bar fight would happen only weeks after the robbery and break-in.
Warning signals were shooting off in Vincent’s head but just as he was about to speak and say that he thought these were planned attacks, his father announced that they would be dismissing this, too. Vincenzo would personally contact the leader of the other clan, but it would be nothing more than a friendly warning. On one hand, Vincent thought it was probably the most diplomatic choice. But if these were planned, then they were allowing their rivals to get more and more saturated in their territory; slowly building a network where the big attack that finally came would be swift and strong. At the very least, Vincenzo should show more pride in his land.
But when Vincent suggested this, Vincenzo struck him down swiftly, berating him in front of the board saying that he was a rash and hot-headed cub. Vincent snapped his mouth shut and didn’t say another word for the rest of the conversation. He wanted to do nothing, revel in “I told you so” when this all blew up in his father’s face. But the weight of his leadership was heavy on his conscious. Vincent decided he’d send some clan members on a recon mission.
Hanging up with the group phone meeting, Vincent called up Xavier and asked if he would gather a group of weres to do some recon in the other territory. Investigate the locations where the attacks had happened and make friends with some weres in the other territory. Vincent said he wanted a briefing in a week to bring to his father. Hanging up the phone, Vincent felt the weight of the world on his shoulders: a mate to initiate, a clan to investigate, and a father to deal with. It all seemed like too much until Jane entered the room with her big smile, and his soul felt just a little bit lighter.
CHAPTER FIVE
Throughout the day, Jane kept surprising herself with the events of the past twenty-four hours. Jane felt like she could go a solid twenty minutes wrapped up in her work before she’d have something that reminded her of her life changing. For example, she’d have to walk into the studio to update an artist or ask a question and she’d look over at Vincent bent over the body of his client and think about how he’d taken her right there on the leather chair. Or she’d get an email on the bear account and remember that her nickname for the clan was literal.
Jane had started writing down the questions she had regarding the clan as they came up. What was the clan name? How many of the other assistants knew? Were there other were clans? Were there other were species? Would he have to marry a werebear?
Jane stared down at her final question biting her lipstick red lip. Carrie appeared behind her with a diet cola and pronounced an emphatic “No.”
Jane spun around, clutching the list to her chest. Carrie stood tall and slender in black jeans and a ripped gray t-shirt. Her hair was artfully pinned up and should have been totally at odds with her ensemble, but the whole package simply made her look like a supermodel. Blinking her eyes, Jane asked, “Excuse me? But, no what?”
“No, wer
ebears do not have to marry other werebears. We can marry humans or other were species. With humans, our offspring become werebears and with other species it follows the species of the father.” Carrie finished by taking a sip of her soda, the picture of innocence.
“You’re a werebear, too??” Jane whispered loudly, her eyes flicking from side to side as if she was being stalked.
“Yup. So are Xavier and two of the other artists. The rest are human and don’t know. You’re the only human in the shop in on the secret.”
Jane just blinked. It made sense. Carrie and Xavier were far larger than your average human and were otherworldly beautiful. It seemed to make sense. Jane should have seen it. “Wow. I mean now that you told me I totally see the similarities, but I have to admit, I was still getting over the shock of such a species even existing. I wasn’t thinking that there would be more people I knew who were were.”
“It’s OK sweetie,” Carrie said patting her on the back. “You’ll find it’s a bit anticlimactic. It doesn’t change much in the end. Most humans we tell are a little disappointed to find that we’re still normal people. Just really old normal people.”
