Don't Judge a Bear by His Cover: (BBW Paranormal Shape Shifter Romance) (Honeycomb Falls Book 6)

by Cassie Wright

  "I didn't think so," he says.

  I curl a strand of my hair behind my ear with a trembling hand. I can't meet his eyes. Do I want this? I do. After three years of imprisonment, I want out. And beyond that. A deep part of me wants to stay close to this man.

  "You don't understand," I say.

  "No?" He pulls back out onto the road. "I think I understand all too well."

  "God, you're arrogant." I hug myself. "You don't know the first thing about me."

  "I don't have to. I know you're responding to me in a way no other woman has. And I'm feeling things for you that I've never felt before either."

  "What?" I stare at him, shocked. "Did I call you arrogant? That doesn't begin to describe -"

  "It's not arrogance." He's staring straight ahead, accelerating to catch up with Hrald. "You don't know the first thing about shifters, do you?"

  "No. Obviously."

  "Obviously. We're predators. You don't get weresheep. You get werewolves. Werebears. Werelions. Hunters. Killers. We have instincts that guide us toward our prey."

  "That's what I am? Prey?"

  "No. Those same instincts also guide us toward women whom our inner beasts recognize as potential mates."

  I sit in silence for a while, and then laugh incredulously. "Mates? What?"

  "Yeah." Torben's frown shows he isn't exactly thrilled about this. "That's what we call it. The women our inner beasts recognize as matches. Our minds might not understand it. Our hearts may be confused. But our drive, our instincts, they tell us how it is. When I saw you walk in through my door I fought it as hard as I could. I fought it over dinner. But this morning, seeing you standing there looking so amazing, I couldn't fight it anymore. Hence my ridiculous demand."

  I blink. My hands fall into my lap. I feel numb. Shocked. I don't know what to say. A minute passes, the most tense and insanely crazy minute of my life, and then I press my fingertips to my temples and shake my head.

  "Wait. Wait a minute. Are you saying - is this your way of seducing me? Carting me off north for a month and just telling me your inner bear has decided we're going to bump uglies, so that's that?"

  Torben growls, and it's a raw sound, something primal and wild. If I needed any more convincing that he isn't human, this is it. "No. I'm fighting it as best I can. I don't want a mate. I don't want to drag you into this. I don't want to endanger you." His knuckles are white on the steering wheel. "But you don't know the effect you have on me. The way you twist my thoughts. I didn't sleep last night just thinking about you. Your body. The mystery you hold hidden inside of you. You're in me like smoke rising through the leaves of a tree. And so I did this dumb thing and asked you to come. And now I'm messing things up even further trying to be honest. Trying to tell you how messed up I am right now about you. My mind is at war with my bear, and you're caught in the crossfire."

  He sounds so tormented I actually want to place my hand on his shoulder and comfort him. But I'm the one being forced to go to Canada to join a biker gang. I'm the one that he should be apologizing to.

  But on another level, on a deeper level, what he's saying makes sense.

  Chapter 8

  We drive in silence, both of us sunk in our reflections. This feels so right, this feels so wrong. I can't help but believe I should be here, that in some primal way I belong by Torben's side, yet the rational, modern woman in me can only scoff. He may be part bear, but I'm one hundred percent human and I am not governed by my instincts. And while yes, he's as handsome and attractive a man as I've ever had the pleasure to lay eyes on, that does not mean I'm going to just become his mate.

  Yet each time I allow myself to look at him, I find my convictions wavering. I find my eyes traveling the line of muscle that cords his forearm. Lingering over his broad hand where it clenches the wheel. I can't help but breathe in his scent, masculine and clean, and touched with a hint of - what is that - the smell of bookstores? Pages and covers, literature and learning. I lean my head back and close my eyes, and that smell seems to magnify, to seduce me in the most subtle of ways possible. It's too easy to imagine awakening with that scent around me, on the sheets, on the pillow.

  Each time I snap my eyes open angrily and stare out the window. I scour my thoughts of all erotic images and sensual longing. So what if his bear thinks I'm his perfect mate? I don't know the man. More than that, am I going to earn my freedom from my father only to shack up with the leader of a Canadian biker gang? During all my nights of longing for an escape, I never once imagined that as a sweet possibility.

  Torben seems content to drive in silence, and so the hours stretch out, Vermont rolling by, the Canadian border coming ever closer. There's so much to discuss, to learn, to hash out, but neither of us seem able to break the stilted awkwardness that has fallen since that raw confrontation close to the border. Each time I blink I can see his face as it was, his emotions naked and conflicted, his hunger warring with his human mind.

  What am I doing? Why aren't I asking him to let me out so that I can escape to some situation that's more rational, more sensible?

  With each mile that passes beneath our tires, I feel like I'm being sucked deeper into this strange, unnerving madness that has fallen over me since I first laid eyes on Torben. My sense of self and reality is unraveling. I've heard of love at first sight. I've even experienced lust at first sight. But this? This is more. This feels like I'm tapping into some primitive drive that has lain dormant within me my entire life. A primeval force akin to a natural imperative, uncaring of plans or logic or common sense. As if the sight of Torben kicked the first stone down the slope that triggers an avalanche. An avalanche I'm trying to resist, but which is going to hit me with the force of Mother Nature and sweep my protesting mind away.

  We reach the Canadian boundary, and I pull out my passport. There's not much of a line going through the checkpoint, and getting into Canada seems a much simpler process than the reverse. In a way, it feels like driving through a gas station, the lanes separated by toll booths. Neither Torben nor I have yet said a word, the silence taking on an almost palpable force, and as we both hand over our paperwork, our eyes meet for the first time - and mine skitter away. So much time spent thinking about him, about us, has made contact of any kind almost overwhelming.

  "All right, enjoy your visit," says the officer, handing back our passports without even glancing at them much. He waves us through, and we roll up to where Hrald is waiting hunched on his bike.

  After Torben has pulled over onto the shoulder, we get out of the truck and stretch. My ass is numb and the small of my back feels compacted. Dusk is falling, and the activity around the border is a small knot of light in the growing gloom.

  Hrald strides over, seemingly unaffected by riding his bike for most the day, and nods warily to Torben. "All right?"

  "Where's the clan at?" Torben's rolling his shoulders, working out the kinks.

  "Don't know exactly, but they're probably six hours north. Depends where Krassok took them."

  "Krassok?" I ask. The cold is starting to develop some bite and I hug myself.

  Hrald looks to me, and I get the sense he'd rather ignore my question, but I turn up the amperage in my gaze and he finally relents. "Second in command. Temporary alpha. Torben'll probably have to kick his ass just to settle things."

  "Krassok." Torben doesn't sound too pleased by the name. "Nobody's taken him down yet?"

  Hrald snorts. "Not for lack of trying."

  "Well, call him. Tell him to bring the clan south. We're supposed to meet at Split Rock tomorrow morning."

  Hrald blinks. "That's just a couple of hours north of here."

  Torben doesn't answer.

  "Fine," says Hrald. "Krassok won't like it, though. Coming this far south. Who's going to watch our turf?"

  "Krassok isn't the true alpha. Tell him to think carefully before he decides not to obey my command."

  Hrald hawks and spits. "Fair enough. And what about us?"

  Torben stares d
own the road into the distant night. "We'll find a motel to hole up in for the night. Then we'll head out first thing tomorrow morning to meet with the clan."

  Again Hrald nods, but his unease is clear. With a sigh, he digs a flip phone out of his pocket and steps away to make his call.

  "What's going on?" I ask.

  Torben's watching Hrald. "I'm putting my plan into effect."

  "So you do have something up your sleeve." I want to feel vindicated in my suspicions, but instead I feel even more nervous. "You're not just submitting quietly."

  His gold eyes lock on mine. "I've never in my life submitted quietly. I don't plan to start now."

  "Which is why Soren wasn't all that torn up about your leaving."

  "Oh, he was plenty unhappy with my plan. He called me a fool in every way he could."

  "Oh." That doesn't sound good. Soren seemed like a solid man, gifted with an ample amount of common sense. If he didn't approve, than that means Torben's plan is risky as all heck. "And do I get to know what you're planning?"

  "Yeah." Hrald starts walking back, and Torben raises a hand, asking me to hold on. "When we get to the motel, I'll tell you everything. I should have done so before now."

  Yes, you should have, I want to say, but then Hrald is right there.

  "Krassok didn't like it, but he's coming. Bringing the whole clan, all thirty-three of them. They'll drive through the night and be there at dawn tomorrow."

  "Good," says Torben, though he doesn't seem much surprised. "Now let's get to that motel. First one we hit on the road north will suffice."

  Hrald nods, and a few minutes later we're back on the road. Dusk has given way to night, and isolated red brake lights float in the distance before us like hallucinatory fireflies. I've never been to Canada before, other than a wild weekend in Montreal during college. I don't remember that visit too clearly - that was during my wild years. The same wild years that landed me in trouble with the law and finally in the clutches of my dad. Looking out the window, I can't make out too much of a difference in the gloom. Other than the signs being in kilometers instead of miles, Canada thus far looks just about the same as Massachusetts and Vermont.

  There's a spate of motels and gas stations right by the border, and the first we hit is a dive called the Red Tree Inn. It's no inn, but rather a series of single-story rooms surrounding a parking lot. Half the lights are out, and only five or six cars occupy the lot. Hrald pulls his bike up close to the dingy office, and Torben parks about ten spaces down from him. No urge to show solidarity, I see.

  Torben kills the engine, and then hesitates. I've been wondering how he's going to handle this situation, and been keeping quiet to see which direction he decides to go in. To be honest, I don't know what I want.

  "Separate rooms," he finally says. I can see he wants it to be otherwise, but I nod in agreement. I don't speak. My whole body is aching to stay close to him. To suggest some kind of nonsense like a room with two twin beds, or to attempt to share a king-sized bed in a chaste manner. Any excuse to lie close to him in the dark and hear his breathing. To maybe reach out a hand and touch his hip, or feel him roll closer to me.

  But that's not me talking. That's this primitive instinct that being close to him has kicked off. I'm not going to succumb. I'm stronger than that. "Two rooms," I whisper, and when our eyes meet I feel something akin to electricity run down my spine, setting butterflies off in my stomach and causing a knot to rise in my throat.

  Torben coughs, nods, and quickly gets out of the truck. I watch him stride through the dim parking lot lighting to the little office and curse myself for a fool. What would it be like to make love to a man who arouses such sensual longing in me? To feel his hand ghost down my back, his lips on my neck? Oh god, to feel his massive body over my own, one hand pulling my thigh up to his hip, opening me. I squirm in my seat. Somehow I'm already wet down there, these rampant thoughts arousing me more than the kisses and touch of previous lovers ever has.

  I press my face into my hands, take a sharp, deep breath, and then comb back my hair. Sit up straight. Roll down the window to let cold air bite into my heated thoughts. Get it together. Torben said it: we're both being affected by our primitive instincts. He was fighting this as much as I am. He doesn't want it. That thought hits me like a punch. He doesn't want me, outside of his inner werebear's nature. If we were two regular people, we wouldn't be feeling this. I wouldn't be sitting here wanting to throw myself at him, half-hoping he'd force me to share a room with him, fantasizing about his body like a teenage girl over her first crush. He doesn't want this. I don't want this. I need to remember that, no matter what my body tells me.

  The door to the office opens, and both Hrald and Torben emerge. Hrald bounces a key fob in the palm of his hand and then nods to something Torben said. He asks a question, but gets a hard stare in return. Somehow I know he's just asked about my getting a single room. With a laugh and a shrug, he turns and walks away.

  Torben watches him go, then comes to the truck and grabs both our bags from the flatbed. I get out, the parking lot asphalt so old and beat up that it crunches beneath my feet like gravel. I pull my jacket closer together, and almost insist on carrying my own suitcase. But to hell with it. Torben holds the bags as if they weigh nothing, and if he wants to be a gentleman, I'll let him.

  "Come on," he says, voice quiet, almost guarded. "You're in 7. I'm in 8."

  I try to force some levity into the situation. "Intent on keeping an eye on me?"

  I'm pleased to see a grin. "Ha. No. I want to be close in case Hrald tries something."

  My blood runs cold. "You think he would?"

  Torben's expression is hard. "No. Not with me here. But he's dumb enough to get drunk and start thinking some foolish thoughts. My being right next to your room should keep in him in check."

  I gulp and hug myself tighter. "Is the rest of your clan like him?"

  "Like Hrald?" Torben laughs darkly. "No. He's the omega. The weakest. The most pathetic, and thus the one sent on missions like this. The rest are stronger. More dangerous."

  "And Krassok?" I almost don't want to ask.

  We walk in silence up to my door, which he unlocks for me. "Krassok." Torben's voice is flat. "He's the worst of them all. Here's the key. You hungry?"

  As if on cue, my stomach growls loudly, like a lion poked with a stick. I give him a weak smile. "I could eat."

  "I'll go grab some food. I'll knock on your door in fifteen. Then I'll tell you what I'm planning."

  "OK." I want to ask what he's going to get, tell him what I'd like to eat, but something about his just getting the food is appealing. Is that my primitive side liking his providing for me? Or just my being curious to see what he'll get? I don't know, and I'm too tired to figure it out. "See you in fifteen."

  He tugs on the brim of his baseball cap like some kind of cowboy, gives me that smile of his, and turns away.

  I close my door, lock it, then take two steps to sit on the corner of my bed. What am I getting myself into?

  Chapter 9

  I take the opportunity to shower and switch into clean clothing while Torben is gone. The bathroom is just a little larger than a telephone booth, but the water is scalding hot and I manage to wash away the staleness of a day on the road. I put on a pair of jeans and a clean white shirt and am starting to dry my hair with a towel when there's a knock at the door. I peer through the window, see Torben holding a brown paper bag, and open it.

  Immediately my mouth fills with saliva at the smell of hot fries and meat. Torben raises the bag as if he's justifying his appearance at my door, but then freezes as he looks at me. For a moment I wonder if there's a hole in my shirt or some kind of horrific smear on my forehead, but then Torben actually blushes and looks down and away, moving past me to set the brown paper bag on the small circular table in the corner.

  Oh, I think, and feel myself flush in return. There's nothing wrong with me. The exact opposite. Seeing me with my hair wet and skin warm and damp
from the shower got to him in some way. I'm suddenly nervous to close the door. In some indefinable way, Torben's more dangerous to me than Hrald. I push the door closed, lock it, and taking a deep steadying breath, turn to where Torben's pulling out a couple of large burgers and cartons of fries.

  "There's a surprisingly good burger joint down the road," he says, keeping his eyes on the food. "I hope you're not a vegetarian?"

  "No," I say, moving to sit, tummy rumbling. The food is still piping hot. I lay out napkins onto which I spill my fries, then tear open three packets of ketchup and festoon the fries as if they're Christmas decorations. "Not at all."

  "Good," he says, sitting as well, and takes up the burger. It looks tiny in his hands, but I can barely hold mine together. Without looking at what's between the buns, I bite down, and am rewarded with a medley of rich flavors that make me groan with pleasure. Caramelized onions, barbeque sauce, heavenly burger, ripe tomatoes and some kind of rich, smoky cheese. I lean back, chewing happily, and we polish off our burgers in silence, both of us simply enjoying the good food and the fact that it's helping us connect on a safer level.

  "Damn," I say at last, wiping my fingers. "Thank you."

  "You're welcome." Torben smiles, as if my gratitude in some way has salved his mind. We sit there smiling at each other, and slowly I become aware of the tension sliding back into the air, our eyes locked, my awareness of his body, of his lips and hands and everything rising and making it hard to breathe naturally all over again.

  Torben coughs and leans forward. "So. My plans."

  "Yes," I say, gathering myself.

  "Fair warning. It's a simple plan, and possibly dangerous."