Endre: Brothers Of The Dark Places
Page 9
Angrily I stalked away from the tent, more than the fate of my people on my mind. Aska, the whelp of the biggest threat to our world there was, took up a large portion of my thoughts. I hated her on sight, she was my enemy, but my soul said differently. Mate it screamed at me, she is your mate.
She was in chains in a building where her and a few of her compatriots were being held. There was a fire so they would not freeze to death, but they did have guards, so they could not escape. I went to the building, taking the guard a hot drink to keep him awake.
“Have they caused trouble?” I asked as he took the cup, and thanked me.
“Not a peep. They know what’s good for them.” The man was a bear shifter, totally able to handle the three wolf shifters in the building.
“Good.” I caught her staring at me, hate in her gray eyes. She looked so much like Wruin’s sweet Abigail, but her eyes were cold and empty, where Abigail’s were full of life and laughter. “She’s dangerous. Keep an eye on her.”
“Afraid dragon?” She asked, spitting at my feet with hatred burning in her eyes.
Well, she was capable of some emotion then. Hate was a place to start.
I knew the hate was a lie, though, a lie to herself. I was her mate. I knew she could feel it. I wanted to hate her, I wanted to destroy her, and that was made worse when I realized she was my mate. I could never have her, I could never trust her.
She was the child of my enemy; she’d tried to kill my brother hours before. Endre’s wounds had healed almost instantly, but there was still a line of pink skin where she’d bitten him.
I could never make her my mate. I could never fully hate her either, though, because of that fact.
I was fucked and life was not going to get any easier. Because, somehow, I had to get her away from my brothers, to safety. If she died, I’d die with her. It was the fate of mated shifters. Somehow, I was going to have to betray my brothers and my people, I’d have to betray them all, to save her. For that, I might just be able to hate her.
Her eyes gleamed up at me from the floor and I knew she could sense my thoughts and she loved the turmoil of them. She fed on them, because she could use those feelings against me. I really was fucked.
I kicked at a piece of firewood and bit down on my lip to smother a scream of anger and frustration. This was beyond anything one soul should have to endure. She was my enemy. How could she be my mate?
I turned to stare at her once more. She was so beautiful. So deadly.
Bonus
Dear reader,
I hope you enjoyed Wruin. To extend your reading pleasure, I’m including some sexy vampire short stories as bonus. See you in my next book!
Miranda Bailey
I
Bear Lust
Shifter Romance
About the Book
When her boyfriend ran off with a nineteen-year-old nanny, Casey knew exactly what she should have done: go on with her life as normal. That’s what functional people did, right? Instead, she ran off to her family’s cabin upstate and decided to drown her troubles in a bottle of wine. Or two. Or maybe three. A raging thunderstorm seemed like the perfect backdrop for bitter wallowing.
What she didn’t realize was that her weekend was going to get a hell of a lot more exciting than that. Because first there was the bear that showed up in her house—the bear that seemed more intelligent than it really should be. And then there was a pack of wolves who weren’t afraid of humans, and a man stumbling out of the forest; injured. The hottest man Casey had ever laid eyes on, if truth be told.
But Nathaniel isn’t just a normal guy. And no matter the heat between them, there are some issues they’ll have to resolve first. Like the fact that he’s a shifter, and there are thirty wolves out for his blood.
1
The thunder crashed and Casey snuggled down further on the couch. Her third glass of wine glinted red in the firelight. She had stopped drinking an hour ago, realizing just how drunk she was getting, but bitter reminiscing just seemed better with a glass of wine in her hand.
If she was being honest with herself, she was taking a certain satisfaction in knowing that she was approaching this entirely the wrong way. A productive adult would handle a break-up by going on with their life as normal. Maybe they would indulge in a set of new workout gear, or a few meals’ worth of Chinese food, or a haircut or something.
Casey, on the other hand, had spent two days in bed, bawling her eyes out while wearing an oversized T-shirt, and had then proceeded to pack a backpack—not even a suitcase—and run away to her family’s cabin upstate, where she was now drowning her sorrows in wine. Maybe, she thought; she should cap it all off by getting a tattoo. What tattoo said, “My boyfriend left me for his sister’s nanny?”
She took a gulp of wine and groaned. The nanny was…well, just what Casey had been once; young, gorgeous, and cheerful. And Casey was That Woman, the one pushing thirty and finding grey hairs, who was—to top it all off—going to have a killer hangover tomorrow morning because she couldn’t drink like she used to. And she knew if she told anyone about this, they would roll their eyes and tell her how pretty she was and how thirty wasn’t old. So she hadn’t told anyone.
She wanted to wallow, dammit.
The thunder crashed again, and she jumped. She drained the glass of wine and reached for the bottle. One glass left. She should stop. But she should also be home in New York, already asleep because she had work tomorrow, and she wasn’t doing that either. She poured the last of the bottle out, and then tipped her head back on the arm of the couch and sighed.
She had really thought Eric was the one. Never hitting on her friends, always respectful, and a career on track for spectacular things. And now all that was left was a hurried, “I think we made a mistake,” and some bitter words about wasting three years, and he was off with a nineteen-year-old while Casey drank herself stupid, alone, in a cabin. One of them was clearly getting the better end of the deal, and it wasn’t her.
Another crash sounded, and this time it wasn’t thunder. Casey sat up, her heart pounding. It was nothing. It was the wind. It was her sister here to check on her. Casey would have groaned at the thought of Jenna’s lecture, only she was suddenly very, very certain that it wasn’t any of those things. She put the wine on the table and crawled, staying low, to look out the sliding doors at the end of the kitchen…
And screamed.
The bear was dragging itself slowly up the lawn, the shattered remains of the picnic table lying on the storm-soaked grass, and its eyes were fixed on the cabin. It was coming for food. It was coming now. It did not wander, sniffing as an animal should. It was taking a straight path, and it was coming for her.
Casey scrambled back, upsetting the coffee table and hearing the glass shatter on the hearth. She paused, stupidly, thinking she should get a sponge and—
Bear. There was a bear. She ran for the coat closet, fumbling through layers of winter coats and snowshoes until the heavy shotgun case emerged. She hauled it out, fumbled at the latches. Locked.
Dammit.
She dragged it with her as she crouched and ran back to the kitchen. Ammo in the bottom drawer, keys in the top drawer. She hid behind the counter as she pulled the drawers open carefully and extracted what she needed. A quick glance around the counter showed the bear still limping its way up the lawn. It was almost at the porch.
Oh God. Her fingers were sluggish because of the wine, and shaking with adrenaline. Casey fumbled with the locks, checking to see if the barrel of the gun was clean before loading the ammo.
There was a sound behind her that made her nearly leap out of her skin, and the sound of the storm swirled into the kitchen. The door was open. Casey clapped her hand over her mouth, trying not to scream. She could run…but she wouldn’t make it ten feet. Never run from a bear, her father used to say.
She was going to have to be brave. Casey took a deep breath, trying to prepare herself for what she was going to see. If she didn’t stand u
p now—right now—the bear was going to find her and she wasn’t going to have time to get the shot out.
Stand up, Casey. Stand up. She stood, aimed, and yelled at the top of her lungs. The bear, halfway through the door, stopped dead in its tracks.
“Get out of my house!” Real smart, Casey. Because bears understand English. “Get! Get out! Go!” She forced her trembling legs to advance.
It took a step back, swinging its head side to side. Almost, she would have said, it was pleading with her. When it looked up, its eyes fixed on hers, and they were nothing like the cold black her sister had mentioned once. She’d fled out of the woods at a dead run with their dog barking so hard they all thought he’d been dragged off, and Jenna kept gasping that the bear had the cruelest, coldest eyes she’d ever seen. She said it was going to kill her, and Casey wondered why that was such a surprise, and now here they were. If she got out of this alive, she was going to tell Jenna that bears’ eyes looked just like human eyes.
It took a low, shuffling step towards her, hanging its head. Blood was pooling on the floor around her feet.
“Go!” Casey took another step, and another.
The bear backed away, little sounds of distress escaping from its snout. What, was it afraid of the storm? Casey almost laughed, and bit her lip. She was barely holding it together as things stood now. She forced the bear out onto the porch, screaming like a drill sergeant, and stopped when the creature was back on the lawn. Her hands were so slippery with sweat that she wasn’t sure she could hold onto the gun much longer.
It tried once more, slinking towards the porch stairs like some sort of overgrown dog, and she screamed—really screamed. She aimed, feeling tears on her cheeks, and pulled the trigger—
Thank God her father had taught her to shoot. The bottom step exploded into woodchips and the bear scrambled away, roaring.
“I don’t want to hurt you!” Casey screamed. She chambered another round, shaking so hard she could hardly stand, and aimed again. “I don’t want to hurt you,” she whispered again.
It stared at her for a long moment, and she almost lowered the gun, the eyes were so sad. When a howl sounded from the rain swept forest, it turned and ran, its uneven gait carrying it over the lawn and into the trees at a limping run.
Casey leaned against the doorframe. She was making a sound she couldn’t quite put a name on, somewhere between a hysterical laugh and a sob, and she really needed to put the gun away before it went off. Wolves. There was a bear, and there were wolves, and the bear had…it had…
It had opened the door.
Her blood went ice cold and she whirled, slamming the door shut. She needed to call Jenna, and their parents, and the police, and—anyone. Anyone at all. And then she needed to get the hell out of here, or maybe put all the furniture on the stairs and sleep in the attic. She laid the gun on the counter, no longer sure she wanted to unload it after all, and went for the phone.
A loud cracking sound came next, lightning flaring and the lights in the cabin flickered and died. Casey looked out in time to see the light pole nearby tip into the trees, yanking the power lines down with it. At any other time, she might have screamed. Now, she had no more energy than to watch it fall and whisper a heartfelt expletive.
There was no calling anyone now. Her cell phone had zero reception out here—it was one of the major benefits of coming; she couldn’t text Eric—and the landline was now completely gone. Also, she was going to be subsisting on cereal and untoasted bread until she left, but that wasn’t so bad. She was going to leave as soon as it was light out. In fact, she was chewing her nail and considering leaving now, with the gun in the car just for safety, when movement at the edge of the forest caught her eye.
You have got to be kidding me. She didn’t think she could take another round of the bear. She squinted, stepping closer…
“Oh, my god.” She dropped the gun and ran, barefoot. It was a man; blood staining his jeans as he staggered up the grass. And Lord alone knew what was going to come out of the forest behind him—because how had he gotten injured in the first place?
Maybe she should have brought the gun.
He looked up as she approached, and Casey felt her eyes go wide. This was the most gorgeous man she had ever seen in her life; dark eyes, dark hair, skin the color of caramel, a jaw that could cut glass…and he was ripped. The rain had pressed his black T-shirt against his chest in a very appealing way, and his lips were full and—
And he was going to die if she couldn’t get him inside.
“Come on,” Casey gasped, looping his arm over her shoulders and pulling him towards the house. “There’s a bear.”
“I know.”
“And wolves.”
“I know.”
His weary acceptance evaporated when a howl sounded from behind them. They both broke into a run, pounding up the stairs and into the house, and Casey yanked the glass door shut as the man fainted on the floor of the kitchen.
2
Casey’s plans of lifting the man and carrying him to the fire proved impossible. The man was heavier than she had imagined, and lifting him was beyond her capabilities, drunk or sober. She settled for hooking her hands under his arms and dragging him backwards across the floor, leaving a bloody smear on the kitchen floor.
Great.
By the fire, she remembered the shattered wine glass. She hesitated, then checked the man’s pulse. It was slow and steady, and the wound on his leg did not seem to be bleeding heavily any longer. Casey felt her way up the stairs, trying to swear softly as she collided with various corners, and then felt through the linen closet for towels. Some clothes from her parents’ room—please, let there not be any embarrassing T-shirts—and some Band-Aids and antiseptic later, she was feeling her way back down the stairs and praying not to wind up on her face at the bottom.
She was just scraping up the last pieces of glass when he asked; “I don’t suppose I could use one of those towels.”
Casey jumped and swore, then turned to look at him. He was even more gorgeous by firelight, dammit, all tousled and dark, with a rakish smile despite what must be blinding pain in his leg, and he was looking over her with frank appreciation that made her blush.
He might like what he saw, but she was having serious regrets about packing her most oversized flannel. If she’d been made up, she wouldn’t be feeling quite like such a slob right now. Hell, she’d even be happy with some lip gloss, or a hair-tie for the strawberry blonde waves that could never seem to settle on either being curly or straight. Her eyes were glinting green in the firelight, but they’d look a lot better with mascara, and her long legs—her best feature, in her opinion—really looked better in heels. She choked back a laugh at the mental image of her misbuttoned plaid shirt and old shorts with heels.
And he was staring at her as if he was wondering if she could speak English.
“Towels. Right. Yeah, they’re for you. You probably guessed that.” Casey shut her mouth by force of will and sighed. “Oh. Also, I should look at your leg. I brought down antiseptic. It’s not much, but it’ll do until we get you to the hospital.”
“I don’t need to go to the hospital.”
“You need stitches. You left a lot of blood on the floor. And probably the rug.” Her parents were not going to be pleased.
“I’ll be fine.”
“Look—uh, I don’t know your name.”
“Nathaniel.”
“Okay. Look, Nathaniel—you’ve lost some blood, and you’re going to get hypothermia unless you get out of those clothes.” Casey looked away as he stripped off his shirt. Muscles and tattoos. Oh, wow. “Yeah. Like that. The thing is, I don’t want you to die on the floor.”
“Who else is here?”
“No one’s here, it’s just my family’s cabin.”
“Do you normally guard it with a shotgun?”
“No, I…” Casey tried to decide where to begin with the story, and then shook her head. “Not important.”
“Not your fault.” Casey sighed and rubbed at her forehead. The wine was hitting hard and she was beginning to remember why she didn’t like drinking her troubles away; they tended to get worse, not better. Hardly fair, that.
“Look.” The man called Nathaniel unbuttoned his pants and pulled them off, revealing black briefs that highlighted some very impressive assets; Casey looked away, squeezing her eyes shut and wishing she hadn’t seen. She was getting some very inappropriate ideas right about now. “It was really nice of you to come out and get me. And I would like some of that antiseptic. And Band-Aids.”
Casey snorted. “I don’t think Band-Aids are going to be enough.”
“Whatever. The point is, I’m grateful for your help—but you don’t need to feel responsible for me.”
“You’re on our property,” Casey pointed out. “But really, it’s no trouble. I…don’t have anywhere to be.” Sadly true. Her throat closed up at the memory of asking Eric to come up here a few months ago. He was always too busy.
Had he been cheating on her this whole damned time?
“Now you look mad.”
“I am mad,” Casey snapped. “My boyfriend ran off with some nineteen-year-old nanny, and I came up here and wound up with a bear in the kitchen. The electric is out, there are wolves in the forest, and…and…” All the anger went out of her in a rush and she felt tears pricking at her eyes. She hung her head, sniffing. “God, I’m sorry. I’m just…not having a very good week.”