Bear Necessities (Bad Boy Alphas): A Post-Apocalyptic Bear Shifter Romance

by Selena Kitt

  Chapter 6—Caleb

  “Are you sure?” Caleb frowned at the fork in the tree where the branches split off like a Y. Ivy was pointing her flashlight at it. “Here?”

  “I’m positive. About three feet that way.” She pointed with the flashlight. “There’s a door.”

  “A door?”

  “In the ground. It’s covered.” Ivy wiggled off his back and he heard her gasp when she hit the ground on both feet.

  “Still hurt?”

  “I should have iced it when I got home.” Ivy ran the flashlight along the forest floor. They were far off any path, and he had no idea how she’d managed to navigate them to this point.

  “You have ice?” he asked, surprised, as she shoved brush aside, revealing a small metal door, about three-feet square. There was a latch on it. And a padlock.

  “I have everything.” She knelt down, pulling her bag off her shoulder to retrieve a key from a small, zippered pocket. “There’s a ladder we have to go down. I’m not sure we’ll both fit at the same time.”

  Caleb reached for the latch as she put the key and padlock back into her bag. The door creaked on its rusted hinges, but it opened. Ivy shone the flashlight in and he saw the ladder leading down underground.

  “We’ll fit,” Caleb assured her. “I don’t want you going down that ladder on your bad ankle. Come on.”

  He squatted down so she could climb on his back again. He was quite getting used to her weight. He maneuvered his way down the ladder, using the latch on the underside of the door to pull it closed as they descended.

  “There’s a bolt.” Ivy showed him with her flashlight. “Pull it.”

  Caleb did so—it was thick and heavy, not rusted on this side of the door.

  “You know, being locked in a place with one entrance or exit is a very bad idea,” he muttered as he made his way downward. The floor was concrete and the place was at least twenty degrees cooler than outside—but at least it was dry.

  “There’s another exit,” she told him, sliding off his back when they got to the bottom. “My father was a very smart prepper.”

  She searched the wall with her flashlight, finding the switch she was looking for and flipping it. Fluorescents flickered to life above their heads in a long row, revealing a narrow bunker.

  “Nice.” Caleb gave a low, appreciative whistle.

  “Isn’t this better than the shack?” Ivy stuck her chin out, grinning proudly.

  “Yes.” He chuckled. “You did good.”

  “Well, I didn’t really do it.” Ivy limped down the narrow walkway. He counted six bunks built into the concrete walls on either side of them, all with mattresses installed. “It was my father. He was kind of obsessed with the end of the world.”

  “You have a big family?” Caleb asked as they passed the beds.

  “No. It was just me and him.” She shrugged. “But he was a planner. You know, just in case.”

  “Yeah, I guess so.” He blinked as they entered a larger living area, complete with a wall-mounted television.

  “He actually didn’t intend to use this place if he didn’t have to.” Ivy unslung her bag and rifle, putting them on the floor beside the sofa and sitting down on it. “It’s a bug-out location.”

  “Bug-out location,” he repeated, watching her slide her shoe off her foot. She winced when she put her foot up on the coffee table.

  “Yeah, you know, in case he had to bug-out. Although… I don’t think he ever thought we’d have to.” She sighed, making a face as she peeled down her sock, revealing a giant purple bruise underneath. It was worse than the last time he saw it. “But it’s got everything we’ll need for the short term. There’s plenty of pre-packaged food in the storage. It’s got a generator full of fuel. And there’s another exit that way. Through the food storage room.”

  She pointed into the next room, which he saw was a kitchen, complete with a small stove and refrigerator.

  “He had a well drilled out here,” she explained, biting her lip as she tried to move her foot back and forth. “And of course, there’s a bathroom—with a composting toilet—and a shower.”

  “A shower?” Caleb laughed, squatting down so he could inspect her foot. It was double the size it had been the first time she had her shoe off. It was a really bad sprain. “I guess he really was prepared for everything.”

  “Everything but cancer,” she said softly, watching as he ran his fingers over her instep.

  “I’m sorry, Ivy.” He frowned, looking up to meet her eyes. They were so expressive when she was sad.

  “Too bad we didn’t bring any ice,” he said as he put one of the sofa pillows under her foot, elevating it even more.

  “Go turn the fridge on,” she suggested. “We’ll have ice in a few hours.”

  “Are you hungry?” He stood, looking into the kitchen.

  “I’m actually starving,” she admitted, adjusting her position on the couch. “Can you cook?”

  “I’m not sure heating up one of those pouches constitutes cooking,” he replied with a smile. “But at least it’s calories.”

  “They taste like Spaghetti-O’s,” she warned him, making a face as he unzipped her bag and took out the pre-packaged meals. “All of them. Doesn’t matter if it’s lasagna or stroganoff. It’s all the same.”

  “I like Spaghetti-O’s.” He held up two packages. “So which one?”

  “I don’t care.” She shrugged. “Maybe my dad put something better in food storage. I would kill for some oatmeal.”

  “I’ll check.” He laughed. “First I want to see if I can find something to wrap that ankle with. We need to get the swelling to come down. Do you have a first aid kit?”

  “Emergency one by the front and back entrances—another one in the bathroom under the sink.”

  “Of course.”

  He found the Ace bandages he was looking for under the bathroom sink, coming back to wrap her ankle while their food warmed up in a pot on the stove. It was larger than a camp stove—it had two burners and an oven underneath—but not by much. It ran on propane—clearly a temporary solution. Still, it would last a few months. Maybe more. Not that they’d be down here that long.

  “Smells good,” Caleb remarked, stirring the “savory stroganoff” in the pot.

  “Smells like dog food,” Ivy complained.

  He smiled, shaking his head and glancing out to see her opening a small bottle of pills. She used one of the Nalgene water bottles to take it.

  “More pain meds?” he asked.

  “Mmm hmm.” She leaned her head back on the sofa, closing her eyes. “The Great God Vicodin is my favorite.”

  Caleb turned the stove off, taking the pan off the burner. There were bowls in the cupboard and forks and spoons in a drawer, so he put the stroganoff in two bowls and brought them out to the living area.

  “Food’s ready,” he told her, but Ivy only opened one eye and wrinkled her nose. Then she closed her one eye again.

  Caleb wolfed down the stroganoff. It really wasn’t that bad, and it filled the hole in his belly. By the time he was done, Ivy had drifted off to sleep. Frowning, he picked up her bowl. Since she’d turned her nose up at it, he decided not to let it go to waste. He let her sleep, rinsing the bowls and silverware in the sink.

  Then he went to check out the food storage—not for the food, but to see the other exit.

  Ivy was right—there was another ladder at the end of the food storage room, which had to be the largest room in the bunker. Brian Sullivan had been preparing, all right. Not just for the end of the world for himself and his daughter, but apparently for a small army of people. And there wasn’t just food down here. There was a large cabinet at the end of the room—near the exit. It was locked, but he knew a gun safe when he saw one.

  And, apparently, the man also knew his daughter. Caleb smiled when he found oatmeal, along with boxes of raisins. Behind that, he found something he thought Ms. Strawberry Shortcake just might die for, and he grabbed the package, headi
ng back toward the kitchen.

  Caleb checked on Ivy. She was still asleep, but she’d changed positions, stretching out on the sofa on her back, her foot up on the end of the sofa, an arm thrown over her eyes. He smiled, hearing her snoring gently, and went about making her two packets of oatmeal. They were the kind that already had sugar in them, and he added a handful of raisins, watching them plump up as he stirred.

  He spooned the oatmeal into a bowl and took it out to the living area, setting it on the coffee table and squatting next to the sofa to wake her. She was sleeping peacefully, her lips slightly parted. The rain had washed away any trace of berry juice from her mouth, but her shirt was still stained with it. It had dried a little, but her white t-shirt showed the tawny color of her skin and the gentle rise and fall of her breasts. He hadn’t noticed before, but she wasn’t wearing a bra underneath and he could clearly see the outline of her areola through the thin, tight fabric.

  “Do I smell cinnamon?” Ivy asked sleepily.

  “Hey, shortcake.” Caleb’s gaze moved up to her face and he smiled. “I found oatmeal.”

  “You did?” She half rose, eyes wide with delight. “Oh my God, I haven’t had oatmeal in over a year! I think I love you!”

  He handed over the bowl, standing and watching her devour it, making little sounds of pleasure in her throat that drove him mad.

  “This is so good!” Ivy moaned happily. He watched her pink tongue dart out to lick her spoon.

  “Well, if you like that…” Caleb grinned, heading back toward the kitchen as he talked. “You’re going to love these.”

  “What?” she called, still making those happy noises as she scraped the bottom of the oatmeal bowl. Ivy glanced up as he came back in, holding out something she looked so shocked to see, it was almost comical. “Are those… oh my fucking God, are you kidding me? Am I high? Am I dreaming? That can’t be…”

  “Oreos,” he said, sitting beside her on the sofa and putting the package on the coffee table. “And there are more where that came from.”

  “More?” She gaped at him. “Why in the hell didn’t I think to come down here before? These have been here the whole time?”

  He laughed as she tore into the package. She offered him one, and he ate it. Pure sugar. The insides were a little waxy, and the cookie part slightly stale, but it was an Oreo all right.

  “Now I wish we had milk,” Ivy said through a mouthful of cookies. “Poor Blitzen. I milked her this morning, but she’s going to be miserable by tomorrow.”

  “Blitzen’s the cow?” Caleb asked, watching Ivy lick her fingers of cream. It was delightful. “I thought she’d be named Pentax or Polaroid or something.”

  “My father didn’t name her,” Ivy said with a laugh. “I have to go back and feed them, at least. We can’t stay here long…”

  Caleb didn’t want to tell her that her farm animals weren’t going to last long. He was surprised they were still alive as it was. He saw this fact cross her expression, hated seeing the light fade from her eyes, the smile wiped from her face.

  “I think I saw some powdered milk,” he told her. “Want me to make some?”

  “No.” Ivy swallowed the last bit of her cookie, shaking her head as she closed up the container. “I’m done.”

  “I’m sorry, Ivy,” he said softly, reaching out to touch her hand.

  “No, it’s not your fault.” She looked down at his hand on hers on the sofa. “I mean, I’m the dummy who ran from the bear and hurt my ankle. And if you hadn’t been there… I don’t know what I would have done.”

  “You would have managed,” he assured her, smiling. “You’re stronger than you look, remember?”

  “No, I mean it.” She shook her head, lifting her face to meet his gaze. “You saved my life today. If I’d come home while… while they were still in the house…”

  “But you didn’t.” He shook his head, not wanting to replay that scenario again. “You’re here. I’m here. And you’re safe.”

  For now, he thought, but didn’t say.

  He also didn’t tell her that he was the reason they had ransacked her house in the first place. It was Caleb’s fault she’d twisted her ankle. It was Caleb’s fault her dog had been killed. It was Caleb’s fault they were stuck down here in this bunker. And he didn’t even think Oreos would be enough to soothe her, if he told her the truth.

  “Let’s see if we have ice yet.” He stood, heading toward the kitchen. “I want to get some on that ankle.”

  “Brr.” She made a face. “I’m cold enough.”

  He frowned. “You should get out of those wet clothes.”

  “Should I?” She raised her eyebrows and gave him a half-smile.

  “Go on, Miss Shortcake,” he said with a laugh, not letting on how much her teasing affected him. “Get into your jammies. I assume you packed flannel ones that will cover you from ankle to chin. I’ll check on the ice.”

  Glancing back, he saw her looking through her bag for something warm and dry to change into. Her hair brushed her flushed cheek and the swell of her breasts in that t-shirt made his mouth go dry. He ached to explore every glorious inch of those curves with his hands. And his mouth. And his tongue. And…

  And he really hoped she’d packed something that would cover up all that gorgeous flesh of hers, because he didn’t know how long he was going to be able to hold out, if they were living together in such close quarters. A nightgown like granny wore in Little Red Riding Hood perhaps? Or better yet, a burka?

  Caleb went to check on the ice.

  He was going to need it just to cool down.

  Chapter 7—Ivy

  Ivy woke up in total darkness, panicked. The dream again.

  Usually, she never remembered her dreams, but her sleep schedule was completely off. Now she woke up at strange times, with the hint of a dream lingering in her memory. This morning, just as it had been for the past three mornings, it was the same dream, and she couldn’t shake it.

  She heard snoring and for a moment she was back home in her bed, Nikon snoring beside her, keeping her warm. She imagined the hint of dawn creeping over the horizon. She hadn’t seen a sunrise in a week. She couldn’t believe how much she’d missed it.

  Who would have thought, once upon a time, that the woman who dreaded a five a.m. alarm heralding the start of her work day, which involved taking the subway into the city to her desk job at The Times, would be lamenting not seeing the sun coming up in the morning?

  And she didn’t miss the bustle of the city at all, strangely enough. She’d lived the quintessential New York life for a whole year after college before her father got sick, and when she left, she thought it was the end of the world. Funny—that had come later. But once she was freelancing from home, taking care of her father, she got quite used to the natural rhythms of waking with the sun and resting once it went down.

  Of course, there’d still been technology, then. Her Mac was always open in her lap, if she wasn’t checking her father’s morphine pump or helping him to the bathroom. She didn’t set an alarm after she moved back home—except the ones to give her father his medication—but the first thing she did every day was reach for her iPhone. She’d check the time, then listen for any hint of her father waking while she checked her email and that morning’s news.

  There were no phones anymore. The Internet had been spotty for a long time, and then one day, it disappeared and never came back. She’d checked it religiously every day for a while, but then she got used to not being connected to the outside world. Things had gone mad out there anyway. And she’d been in the middle of grieving the loss of the most important man in her life, so she was already in her own little world.

  Had she really been on her own for two years now? She’d surprised herself with her own answer, when Caleb asked, even though she’d kept track on a desk calendar, crossing off the days until the year had ended, then creating the lines and grid herself so she could continue marking off the days.

  After her father was
gone, she’d had Nikon. And all of the yard animals. And her garden. She hadn’t really been lonely. That’s what she told herself. And it was good that she was so isolated, really. There were some locals who knew her father’s house existed, but not many. He had a post office box where he got mail, but otherwise, there was no need to go into town. Ivy had taken the truck once a week to pick up mail, and it was fifteen minutes on dirt “roads”—that weren’t really roads at all but overgrown two-tracks—before she hit pavement. Then another fifteen to town.

  In the winter, she had to plow her way out. It was hours’ worth of work, and eventually, she just stopped. By then, she didn’t have to worry anymore about the tax bill on the property, which was the only thing that still tied her father to the outside world. He was completely off the grid and had been for years. The outside world had faded away and she didn’t need it anymore.