Son of the Cursed Bear (Sons of Beasts Book 1)

by T. S. Joyce

  Big cat, bear, gorilla, or boar shifter—those were her guesses. Well…probably not boar because it would be weird, him eating copious amounts of bacon. But maybe.

  When he disappeared around the corner, she finally, finally dragged in a full breath. Chest heaving, she shopped as fast as possible and left off the last three things on her list just to get out of there. As she checked out, talking to Jimmy wasn’t so bad because she knew him and he was always friendly and understanding if she said something awkward. After she paid in cash, with shaking hands, she bolted from the store. Nevada shoved her basket through the sliding doors and out to the dimly lit parking lot like cart racing was an Olympic sport. But when she got halfway to her car, the hairs lifted on her neck again. It was too quiet, and she felt watched.

  She looked around, but the only person she saw was Weirdo with a Beardo sitting in his truck, one row away under the street lamp. His eyes blazed silver, and his lip was split. Red trickled down his beard, staining it, and that wasn’t the only crimson on him. His hand rested on the top of the steering wheel, and his knuckles were all cut and red.

  What the heck?

  As she pushed the cart faster, his eyes arced across the parking lot, tracking her. This man was certifiable, and downright terrifying. She ripped her gaze away from him. A second longer trapped in it, and she was going to have a full-blown freak-out.

  Panicking, she shoved her groceries in the back seat of her Maxima, spilling them everywhere, but she didn’t care. She just wanted to get out of here, lock herself in her apartment, and feel okay again.

  She thought about calling the police on the bleeding man in the truck as she backed out of the parking spot, but that’s when movement caught her eye. She slammed on her brakes and lurched to a stop. Right on the other side of her parking space, the two men from inside were lying on the asphalt. The dark-haired one was gripping his stomach, the other was unconscious, and both their faces looked like hamburger.

  Mind racing, Nevada tried to make sense of why they were by her car and not their own, two rows over.

  She jerked her attention to the rearview mirror, and the bearded man was still there in his truck, eyes locked on hers through the reflective glass. He didn’t look as terrifying though, not now that it was starting to make sense. Those guys had come out to the parking lot and had been waiting by her car. Why? She didn’t even want to think of why. They weren’t here with good intentions, though.

  The rude man had taken care of them. Again.

  He spat red out of the window and whipped out of his parking spot, then drove like a bat out of hell to the main road. His engine roared as he gassed it away from Essie’s Pantry and disappeared into the night.

  He might not want to be considered a hero…but to Nevada?

  That wild and infinitely rude man had just done something very heroic.

  Chapter Three

  He probably didn’t like oatmeal raisin.

  He probably didn’t like anything.

  Crap. But oatmeal raisin was the best cookies Nevada knew how to bake. She took three steps in the direction of the Foxburg Inn, but then did an about-face and marched back to her Maxima. Maybe she should’ve gotten him a gift card to a coffee shop as a thank you for smashing those predators’ faces in for her last night. Or a handmade thank you card? She knew how to make paper. Crap, crap, crap.

  She tried to inhale deeply, but her lungs always froze up on her when she was thinking about going into a building with a lot of people in it. The cookies would be fine. She’d spent all morning making them, and they tasted really good. He would probably like the cookies. Dad always told her the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach. Not that she was trying to win Weirdo with a Beardo’s heart, but just the same. She’d made the right decision with the cookies.

  What if he wasn’t at the inn, though? And how would she track down his room number? She didn’t even know his first name. Maybe he wasn’t staying in town at all. Maybe he’d just been passing through last night and needed to stop for bacon.

  Chewing her bottom lip, Nevada looked up at the cream-colored hotel, then blew a strand of hair out of her face and forced her legs to move toward the front door. If he wasn’t in there, okay, but at least she could say she tried. If she didn’t try, she would always wonder what-if.

  Maybe he wouldn’t be there, and then she didn’t have to worry about talking to him. They were both obviously bad at conversing, but she’d been taught manners, and she felt obligated to say thank you in a meaningful, oatmeal-and-raisins type of way. It definitely wasn’t because he was rough, gruff, and didn’t seem to care about anything, nor because he had a sexy beard, which she hadn’t ever thought would be sexy before now. He looked like a lumberjack, all dressed in plaid with those big…sexy…muscles. And tattoos. Maybe he was covered in ink. She’d never been into bad boys, but then again, it wasn’t like anyone was knocking on the door to her Poontang Temple, so maybe she needed to cast her net out a little wider and consider bad boys and— Oh my gosh! No. This was a thank you, not a booty call. Focus.

  She reached for the door, chickened out twice, then succeeded on the third try. Poontang was a gross word. Where had that come from? It was as close to a curse word as she said. Mom had raised her a lady and had beaten it into her head that ladies didn’t say words like that. Her mom would poop a literal brick if she knew Nevada had even thought the distasteful word.

  Beardo had used the F word three times last night. She’d counted. He was bad.

  And what did it say about her that she’d thought about his piercing blue eyes all night, or the way he’d felt all warm and dominant when he’d walked close to her, or the way he’d cradled that bacon like a little baby?

  “Can I help you?” the woman at the front desk asked. Her name was Anita, even if it didn’t say it on a nametag. Nevada knew who she was, because she’d gone to school with her. Anita had been a senior when she was a freshman in high school. She’d escaped this place for a little while, and made a life in Atlanta, but ended up right back here. Everyone did. This place was like a sinkhole.

  “H-hi. Ummm.” Think. “I’m looking for someone?”

  “We don’t give out names here. It’s against policy.”

  “Oh, that’s okay, I don’t even know his name.”

  Anita’s dark eyebrows drew down. “Okaaay.”

  “Um…he is about yay tall.” Nevada held her hand up a foot above her head. “And he has this epic beard. Muscles. Tattoos.” Her voice was going dreamy. Cut it out! Nevada cleared her throat and shuffled her feet nervously. “I baked him cookies. He kind of…saved me. My life. He saved my life maybe. I think. I’m not sure because I’m a little confused about how everything—”

  “Don’t need your life story,” Anita muttered as she typed away on the computer. She hadn’t been that nice in high school either.

  “R-right. Do you know what room number he is staying in?”

  “I already told you it’s against policy to give out information.” Anita’s voice sounded so bored right now.

  “Okay,” Nevada whispered. “Sorry. Thanks anyway.” She turned to leave but forced herself back around. “It’s just…I really wanted to tell him thank you.”

  Anita rolled her head back on her shoulders, stared at the ceiling, and blew out a long, annoyed noise. And then leveled Nevada with narrowed eyes. “The description you gave…” she said slowly. “He’s probably the type of man who likes to shoot whiskey.”

  Nevada frowned. “I beg your pardon?”

  “He probably likes whiskey.” Anita jerked her head to the right. “Drinking. Drinks. He probably likes drinks.”

  Baffled, Nevada stared at the riddle-filled woman.

  “Oh, for chrissakes, he’s at the bar.”

  Nevada jerked her attention to a small bar area on the other side of the sprawling great room. Sure enough, Beardo was there, and his icy blue eyes were trained right on her. Oooh, she wanted to run. Talking to Anita had been hard enough,
but now she felt stupid and embarrassed. Heat was already creeping up her neck, and no doubt she would have cherry-red cheeks by the time she made it over to him.

  And just as she’d convinced herself she should leave, Beardo shook his head in agitation and waved her over. Well, she really didn’t want to do this now if he was just going to be angry with her.

  As she meandered over to him, he tossed back another shot of what really did look like whiskey, and then he set the tiny glass down too hard. It made a thunk sound that prickled her oversensitive ears and made her jump. He was too rough. And as she got close enough, she noticed his boots were muddy. Again. He had trailed the dried chunks of it all over the carpet. This guy was a mess. A hot, sexy mess.

  “I came to say thank you,” she blurted out at the same time he asked, “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  “Oh.” Nevada laughed nervously and couldn’t meet his eyes, which were staring directly and rudely right at her. She held the tin of cookies against her stomach as if that could stop the nervous flutters there.

  “It ain’t Christmas yet,” he said in a deep, rumbling voice.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “What does that mean, you’re sorry? Sorry for what?”

  “Oh, no, it just means what?”

  His blond brows jacked up like two McDonalds arches. “Then why don’t you just say what?” He jammed a finger at the tin of cookies. “It’s got dolphins in Santa hats. It ain’t Christmas, so why are you carrying that around?”

  “Oh! Right.” She gave another nervous laugh and shook her head at her stupidity. “Um, this is the only tin I have. I got it from this flea market for seventy-five cents. Actually, the lady who sold it to me had the whole set, but for some reason I just wanted this one. The others had wolverines and koalas and goldfish in little Santa hats and…” He was staring at her like she’d lost her mind so she explained, “I ramble when I’m nervous. And I don’t talk to a lot of people, so I’m kind of…bad…at this.”

  The man gave a slow blink.

  Nevada shoved the tin at him, eyes averted to the carpet again. “I made these because I think you beat up those guys because they were waiting for me outside Essie’s Pantry last night and my mom always told me the best way to thank someone is with an expensive gift but I can’t afford expensive stuff, and furthermore I’m pretty sure she just said that because she likes when my dad buys her sparkly things and I made oatmeal raisin, but you probably don’t even like that kind, but I make these best.” Nevada bit her bottom lip so she would stop rambling.

  “I hate cookies.”

  “Ha!” she blurted out, then clapped her hand over her mouth when her laugh echoed through the room. Her cheeks were on fire all the way to the tips of her ears.

  “My hatred for cookies is funny?”

  “Yes. No!” Nevada scrunched up her face. “A little? It’s just I called it when I was going over in my head how this conversation would go. Although…” She looked around to see if people were watching, but they weren’t. “It’s actually going worse than I imagined. And that hardly ever happens. Usually I think of the worst-case scenario, and then when it’s not so bad, I’m relieved.”

  Beardo’s frown deepened. “So you set your expectations so low you’re never disappointed.”

  “Well…it sounds kind of awful when you say it like that…but…yes.” She shook the cookies gently to remind him to take them.

  “I also have very low expectations.” He yanked the tin from her hand and popped the top, then sniffed at it. “I’m going to eat all of these.”

  “Okay.” They stared at each other for the count of three blinks, and this was her cue to leave. “Okay, thanks, bye.” Nevada spun on her heel and speed walked toward the door.

  “Nox.”

  “I’m sorry?” she asked, then shook her head and got embarrassed again. “I mean…what?”

  “My name is Nox. I hate people and will be a really shitty conversationalist. I like the quiet, and I don’t like new things or change. Or fuck-faces who wait in parking lots for girls.”

  “Okay,” she said in a high-pitched voice.

  “That’s as close to an invite as you’re going to get.” He tipped his head toward the barstool beside him. And then he turned around and ordered two more shots of Jameson.

  Righty-oh. She tiptoed to the chair beside him like a super-normal person and then sat down gently. The chair was leather and made a fart sound.

  Nox didn’t laugh, but when he looked at her, she almost saw a smile on his lips. It was riiiiight there, right at the corners.

  “That wasn’t what it sounded like,” she uttered, mortified.

  Nox leaned over, his nostrils flaring as he sniffed her. She didn’t know whether to run, slap him for thinking she really farted the first thirty seconds of real time spent with him, or barf because this was the most humiliating moment of her life.

  “What are you?” he asked as the bartender set the pair of shots between them, right on top of an unfolded map of Foxburg and the surrounding mountains.

  “A person,” she gritted out.

  “Wrong answer. A, it’s a boldface lie. I can hear it in your voice. Two, your eyes were bright fuckin’ gold last night when those idiots had you pinned in the grocery store, and C, you smell like fur. That rules out hedgehog, sea creature, and flight shifter.”

  “Wait, are there sea creatures? Like…are there octopus shifters just swimming around, holding their breath and then turning back into humans? Or are you talking about mermaids? That would be really cool if there were mermaids.”

  Nox’s eyes narrowed to crystal blue slits. “You talk a lot.”

  Well, that took her back. “No, I don’t actually. I ramble sometimes, but mostly I’m quiet.” Why was she a blabbermouth around him?

  “No to mermaids and octopussies—”

  “I don’t think that’s the plural for Octopuses. Octopi?”

  “Not a bear because you’re submissive as fuck, and even the most submissive bears in Damon’s mountains feel way heavier than you.”

  Nevada flinched and gasped. “You’re from Damon’s Mountains?”

  A soft rumbling sound emanated from him, and Nox handed her a shot. “Drink.”

  She stared down at the fragrant liquor in the small glass. “It’s just…I’m not a very good drinker and I tend to—”

  “Drink.”

  “Okay.” Nevada jumped slightly when he tinked his glass against hers, and then she did what he did, bumped the bottom of the shot glass on the shiny bar top before she held her nose and drank the liquor down. It was gross, and it felt like she’d swallowed one of those hot pokers Dad used to stir up the fire in their fancy grand hearth in her childhood home. “I touched a hot poker once,” she choked out. She showed him the pink scar across the inside of her thumb.

  “So, brains aren’t your gig then,” Nox said rudely.

  “Oh, and you never did anything silly when you were a kid?”

  “Never.” His voice rang with false notes though, and he smiled like he didn’t even care that he was obviously fibbing. “What’s your name? In my head, I’ve been calling you Helpless Heather.”

  What a jerk. “Well I’ve been calling you Weirdo with a Beardo.” She swallowed down a gasp at her rudeness.

  Nox bellowed a single, echoing laugh, just like she’d done earlier, and people turned to stare at them. Not good. Nevada shook her leg in quick succession and plucked at a loose thread on her cardigan. Today was cold, and it would snow soon, so she’d dressed in her warmest fleece leggings, knee-high boots, a red tank top and the thick gray cardigan that trailed down below her backside.

  “Nevada.”

  “Is a pretty state,” Nox muttered, giving a two-fingered wave to the bartender for more shots.

  “No. I mean, yes, it is. But Nevada is my name. Nevada Foxburg.”

  “You’re named after the town?” Nox asked, arcing a questioning gaze to her. His eyes were a pretty color of blue. Like the ocea
n. But not on a bad beach where the water was murky. His eyes were like the Hawaii ocean.

  “Actually, the town is kind of named after me. Or not me, but my family. We’ve been here for generations.” She shrugged up one shoulder. “We never leave.”

  “Hmm.” The noise came out a soft rumble. “Interesting.”

  “I don’t really like whiskey,” she whispered as the bartender set down another pair of drinks in front of them.

  “No shit,” Nox whispered back, pushing her shot closer to her. “I could tell from the awful face you made when you took the last one. You drank that one. You need to shoot this one.”

  “There’s a difference?”

  “Yep. Open that throat up and gulp it.”

  “It’s too much to take.”

  “Woman, half the shit you say I want to turn into something perverted. It’s not too much for you, Nevada Foxburg.” His grin turned wicked. “I know you can take all of it.”

  He was talking about a dick. Right? This was a dick joke? Or…flirting? She couldn’t tell. This guy kept her on her toes and confused, but she kind of liked it. She kind of liked not knowing where the conversation would go with him.

  She took the shot with him and felt four percent proud of herself for at least drinking it faster than last time. All Nox said was, “Needs improvement,” before he ordered a plate of loaded nachos. “We’re sharing,” he announced gruffly.

  “Oh, no thank you. I’m watching what I eat.”

  Nox dragged his gaze down her body, then back up to her eyes. “Whyyyy?” he drawled.

  “Well, because…” Was he messing with her? She was fifty pounds overweight, and he was some kind of bodybuilder shifter. “Well, isn’t it obvious?”

  “You have a grabbable ass, perfect ten tits, and an hourglass shape. And I see those sexy calves under those boots. You’re totally fuckable. I’d let you ride me any day, nachos or no. Besides, this place is highfalutin. It’s probably non-seasoned, oven-baked pita chips and goat cheese, or some such bullshittery.”