Bear Fursuits Books 1-4: Bear Fursuits

by Montrose, Isadora

  Martha swallowed. “My numbers are fine,” she said. She didn’t bother to explain that she already received the annual bonus. It was none of Stephanie’s business that her blood pressure was on the low end of normal, her blood sugar was perfectly normal, and her aerobic fitness exceeded the company guidelines.

  Stephanie tried again. “With regular exercise and a proper diet you could lose some weight.” Her eyes were unnaturally tilted in her taut face, which contrasted strangely with the wrinkles on her neck and chest.

  Martha smiled at her tormentor and forbore to ask whether Stephanie’s plastic surgery had been fully covered by her medical bonus. “I don’t have time for more than six and a half hours at the dojo each week,” she explained gently. She stood up and grinned at down at Stephanie. In her three inch heels, Martha towered over the other woman. Her round calves bulged with muscle as she walked briskly out of the cafeteria.

  It never ceased to astonish her that the entire country had bought into the idea that a diet that stripped muscle from the body and left the dieter frail and listless was healthy. Stephanie was only forty-three but she was on her second face lift. Her arms and legs were rail thin and although the muscles had definition, they looked scrawny. Moreover, Stephanie complained of a litany of minor ailments, looked tired, and was defeated by anything that weighed more than ten pounds.

  Martha could bench press two eighty, and routinely bounded up the stairs to her twelfth floor apartment—carrying her grocery bags. She had made peace with the fact that her energetic, athletic frame was camouflaged by abundant curves and she jiggled when she walked. At six one she was taller than most women, and if she had to pick between looking like an anorexic model or a woman, she would pick looking like a woman every time. And at last she had found a man who appreciated her plump femininity and found her muscles sexy.

  Will was not just a hunk. His six foot eight frame held a good heart. He was a generous and skillful lover, and he pampered her whenever he could. He refused to let her pay when they went out. He showered her with little gifts, and sometimes with big ones like the ruby necklace. He respected her opinions and always spoke respectfully to her.

  The only drawback to Will was his frequent and unpredictable absences. She knew that he was doing honorable work serving his country. But knowing he was someplace dangerous, putting his life on the line for his country got old fast. He was several cuts above her aunt’s shifter trash, but she wanted more than a trayful of medals and a photograph for her children to look up to. A dead dad was as bad as a deadbeat dad.

  Not that she had known her dad. Or her mom either. Aunt Tanya had done her best, but between her lack of judgment and her thing for tough guys, Martha had had her fill of uncles before she was eight. Uncle Kyle had been the last and the worst. A shifter like Tanya, Kyle was one hundred percent boor. His son Lance was worse. He was a slob who liked drugs and alcohol and disliked work. Must have got that from dad.

  It was sort of all right when Tanya kept the men in line and brought a paycheck home from the diner. But when she got sick and her tips fell off, Kyle turned mean. He smacked Tanya around when the money wouldn’t cover the groceries and his beer. He cuffed Martha every time she came through the door of the double wide. And if she hadn’t protected little Shelly, he’d have kicked her as she tried to crawl on the filthy floors.

  Shelly was the reason Martha had hung around after Tanya died. Her little cousin was four by then and barely able to walk. Shelly could understand you quite well if you were patient with her, but Kyle and Lance weren’t patient.

  The nurse at the clinic had explained that Down Syndrome made Shelly’s muscles floppy and it would take speech therapy and special care to teach her to speak and walk normally. As if Kyle planned to waste beer money on his daughter. He grumbled about paying for the diapers she still wore.

  Martha had split when she turned fourteen. When he was around, Lance had preferred to drink beer and watch TV. He acted as if Martha existed to make meals and clean. But that spring he suddenly started to stalk her. Whenever her got her alone he pressed himself against her and touched her breasts and made disgusting slurping noises. Martha began locking herself and Shelly into the little room they shared. But Lance had waited one night for her to slip down the hall to the toilet.

  Aunt Tanya’s policy had been to keep her bear under wraps. Martha had never seen her shift. She had known that Lance was a half-breed but had not realized he was untriggered and couldn’t shift. She was flat on her back in the little kitchenette one night before she understood what he was after.

  “You’re gonna make me a bear. I’m going to make you a woman,” he rasped in her face as his crude hands struggled to undo the jeans she was wearing. When she fought back he hit her.

  “What the fuck? You stupid bitch.” He pulled away just far enough to smack her harder. Before she realized what was happening she took bear form and clawed at Lance’s chest. His bellows had brought Kyle off the couch where he was passed out.

  Kyle would probably have done her an injury in return, but Lance was bleeding from deep lacerations and his father panicked.

  “You stupid cunt,” he screamed at Martha as he tried to figure out how to stop Lance from bleeding. Eventually he wrapped his son in a towel and took off for the medical center.

  Martha had been terrified. As soon as they had left she had returned to human form and dressed. She had gone into Kyle’s room and hunted until she found his gun and under that his drug money. She had taken the bullets out of the gun and thrown them in the trash. She kept all the cash. She had jammed her stuff into a backpack. Shelly was awake and crying and had wet the bed. Martha had changed her cousin and carried her, soft and squirming, outdoors.

  Mrs. Collins two trailers over, had taken one look at Martha’s bruised face and asked no questions. “She can stay with me until tomorrow,” was all she said. She didn’t offer Martha shelter and Martha didn’t blame her. Kyle and Lance were big and mean and violent.

  Kyle’s money had taken Martha to Los Angeles. She had been afraid the whole way that she had killed Lance and Kyle would set the police on her. And she was haunted by her memories of Shelly’s pitiful, bewildered howling as she walked away from Mrs. Collins’ double wide. She could never forgive herself for abandoning that helpless child to Kyle and Lance’s casual brutality.

  Kyle and Lance were why she didn’t trust shifters and never turned herself. She had clawed her way into respectability and she planned to remain there. Will seemed just as circumspect about his bear. He never suggested they take bear form. He seemed content to be a burly giant of a man. If only he had a nine to five job and came home every evening.

  Martha hadn’t yet confided her past to Will. His family seemed so stable and normal compared to her aunt and her dysfunctional relationships with abusive thugs. But she was going to have to tell him about Wesheno and the trailer park one of these days. He loved her. He wouldn’t think less of her for coming from nothing. Would he?

  CHAPTER THREE

  Martha hummed happily as she laid her table for two. Will was back from his mission, and had three weeks of leave scheduled. She had booked herself a two week holiday and canceled a birthday party, as well as rescheduled three evening baking classes. She hated to let her customers down, but she was eager to meet Will’s family in upstate Washington, and the Navy truly allowed Will no flexibility. Besides, she hadn’t had a real Thanksgiving in years.

  She wanted to see Will’s home town, his family’s land, and the house he had built in their compound. He had told her he and his brothers had built it themselves. And he didn’t mean they had hired contractors. He meant that they had dug foundations and assembled logs to make a two story, four bedroom house overlooking a stream. He said he was waiting for his wife to decide how to furnish it.

  Will rarely discussed his work. He came and went on deployments that were top secret before and after. It was just good luck that he hadn’t been sent anywhere in the six weeks following t
heir initial meeting. But it had taken three months to set that meeting up, and this latest deployment had left her worrying for twelve days. But he was back safely and he had leave!

  She had made his favorite: prime rib with all the fixings, and a chocolate roll with raspberry cream filling. Tonight was a celebration. She just hoped they managed to eat the meal before they ate each other. Because the last time he had returned to her, they had spent the two days before he had to report in bed, and her carefully prepared celebration dinner had wound up in the freezer.

  They had a hard time keeping their hands off each other at the best of times. The attraction between them was instant and primal. One glance at his hard face and harder body and she was greedy for sex. And he seemed to feel the same way about her curves. Once he had hold of her love handles it took a long time for him to be satisfied. A very long time.

  Tonight they were going to talk for sure. She was going to tell him all about Wesheno and the mother who ran off when Martha was a baby. About the fact that her birth certificate listed her father as Unknown. About Barb Brown taking her in. Because she was pretty sure he was going to ask her to marry him this weekend.

  The rapping on her door was loud and peremptory. That wasn’t Will’s style. She checked the viewer he had installed. He had shown up one evening with a large toolbox and a cordless drill.

  “It’s crazy that your building doesn’t have CCTV,” he told her. “And that intercom came out of the ark. It just sounds like rumbling from the fourth circle of hell. You’re going to buzz up a wackjob someday when you’re expecting pizza.”

  He had neatly and competently installed a top of the line viewer with a screen the size of a cell phone in her front door. Unlike old style peeps this gave a wide angled view of the entire area before her door. Will had demonstrated how even a big guy standing to the side was visible to her.

  “Gotta keep my best girl safe.”

  That was her Will, bossy and protective. But she did feel safe going to check before she answered the angry summons. She stopped dead, scarcely able to believe her eyes. It was Lance.

  Her aunt’s stepson looked even larger and more unsavory than he had ten years before. Dark stubble lay over his jowls and his eyes were bloodshot. His belly hung over his pants. He glared at the peephole and raised a fist the size of a butt roast and pounded on her door again.

  Lance had one hand on the neck of the chubby young girl who stood beside him. She looked scared and bewildered and there were smudges or maybe bruises on her face. Her large breasts spilled out of the low neck of her rhinestone studded tee-shirt. Pink glittery letters spelled out SLUTASTIC. The tee-shirt was tucked into skin tight, buttock-revealing denim shorts. It was her baby cousin all grown up.

  Martha opened her door, but only because of Shelly. She had spent years worrying about her and feeling guilty for abandoning her. How could she not?

  “Hello, Lance,” Martha said. She didn’t invite him in. “Hi, Shell,” she said softly. “Do you remember me?”

  Shelly shook her head no. Lance squeezed her neck harder. Shelly clamped her lips tightly. “Sure she does,” Lance growled. He shook his sister by her neck. “You remember, Marty, doncha, She Shell?”

  Shelly’s head nodded because Lance was moving it, but her expression said louder than words that she didn’t know who Martha was.

  “You better come in,” Martha said. At least Will would be along soon. She would be fine until he arrived.

  Lance looked around her tidy little apartment. He noticed the table laid for two. “You done all right for yourself,” he said going into her living room and sitting on the couch. Shelly hung back.

  “Sit over here,” Martha told her gently, indicating the armchair. Shelly curled up in it as if that would make her invisible. She clutched her knees tightly and let her black curls fall over her face. Her purple Keds were worn thin at the toes and looked too small.

  “Why are you here?” Martha asked Lance. She did not sit down. She looked at him over her folded arms. She was not going to pretend this was normal.

  “Just thought I’d look up my cousin.” He leered at her.

  “And how did you know where to find me?” She hadn’t been near Wesheno in over a decade. And she certainly hadn’t kept in touch with Kyle or Lance.

  “The Google,” Lance told her proudly. “You can find anyone on the Google.”

  Martha didn’t comment. She got straight to the point. “What do you want?”

  “Thought you’d be happy to see She Shell. Dad had to go away for a bit. Dumped the brat on me, but my old lady ain’t happy. I thought I could leave her with her cousin Marty for a few days. She give you any trouble you just clout her.”

  Shelly looked even more terrified as she peeped through her curls. She was shaking. Martha looked between the trembling girl and the cocky ruffian on the couch. Where was Will?

  “How long?” she heard herself ask. Well, was she going to send Shelly out of here with a jerk who hit her? Again?

  “Week. Maybe two.” He shrugged. “She won’t be no trouble. Will you, She Shell?”

  Shelly cowered but didn’t speak.

  “What about school?” Martha asked.

  Lance shrugged. “What about it? Special Ed never learned her nothing, dumb as she is. Dad finally stopped sending her, and she stopped yowling to her fucking teachers.”

  “Okay,” said Martha. “She can stay with me. But I am expecting my boyfriend, so you had better go.”

  “What’s the matter, you ashamed of your family?” But Lance was strolling towards the door as he spoke. He turned back and looked at Shelly. “Don’t piss yourself,” he advised her.

  Martha let him out and watched him walk away with relief. OMG. She had just taken on a fourteen-year-old girl when she and Will were supposed to go out of town for a week. Lance had left a smell of stale male sweat, beer, and cigarettes behind. But there was a pong coming from Shelly’s chair. Urine and unwashed adolescent girl.

  “Hey, honey,” she said. “Come see my bedroom.” She held out her hand and after a long pause, Shelly uncurled and came over to her. She kept her hands clutching her bare arms.

  Martha put arm around Shelly’s chubby shoulders and hugged her cousin gently. “I used to help look after you when you were a baby,” she said softly. “We slept in the same bed, when I was your age.”

  Shelly looked up at Martha. Her eyes opened wide. “Oh,” she said, “You’re the bitch who ran off.” It was obvious from her neutral tone that she was just repeating an often heard remark and hadn’t mean to give offense.

  Martha smiled. “Let’s go see where you’re sleeping tonight.”

  Will texted while she was coaxing Shelly through a shower. Apparently Shelly was afraid to remove her clothes because something bad had happened to her. Jesus. She would have to get the child to a doctor.

  Deployed. Effective immediately. Sorry. Love you.

  Well didn’t that figure? She was alone again with crap happening.

  Martha took Shelly to the Walmart and bought her a new, less provocative wardrobe and shoes that actually fit. Shelly calmed down and began to eat and sleep. But her refrain of, “Mustn’t tell,” delivered in progressively louder shrieks told its own story.

  Meanwhile, there was no word from Lance. But the prospect of his return ruined Martha’s peace of mind. Lance knew where she lived. But she didn’t know where he did. He had volunteered no phone number and she had not wanted him to have hers. Shelly didn’t have a cell. She said she lived in Milwaukee, in the trailer park. Maybe, but Milwaukee was a big city.

  The problems multiplied. On Monday, Martha took Shelly to the children’s hospital. The resident thought she might have been sexually active. Assaulted? He couldn’t be sure. He called Child Protective Services.

  A Ms. Dias with a kindly, middle aged face listened to Martha’s tale impassively. Where was Shelly’s father? Where was her brother? Was Shelly Martha’s cousin by marriage or blood? Maybe the CPS psychologist
could get a clearer idea of what had happened to Shelly.

  Two hours of playing with puppets on Wednesday led to a freshly hysterical Shelly and nothing conclusive. Did Martha wish to relinquish custody of Shelly? Where would she go? A foster home would eventually be found in Wisconsin. And in the meantime?

  Ms. Dias shook her head. “She would be in temporary care, until we find her father or brother. Or until a judge determines she has been endangered or neglected.”

  “But she was filthy and terrified last Friday! She may have been assaulted or pimped out.”

  “And she now seems fine. And she isn’t a good witness. Clearly her brother knew he was leaving her in good hands with you. He didn’t abandon her without the necessities of life. There is nothing we can do at present.”