Chapter 2
Bronwyn
Bronwyn could hardly move when the blueberry bush in front of her rustled, and the sound that no forest animal ever wanted to hear, the growl of a grizzly, erupted.
Too stunned to think or hide, she simply blinked at the bear stupidly, the precious treasure she’d collected earlier still dangling from her beak.
A second later, the beast transformed along with her stupefaction. Heat bubbled through her blood the moment her eyes landed on the face of the man who’d caused her to bruise her wing when she’d violently smashed into the suddenly slammed door rather than the fleshy backside she’d been aiming for.
In her rage, she hopped out from under the pathetic cover of the log and shifted, not caring one bit that she was as naked as the day was long.
“You!” she shrieked, pointing a finger at him with a long black-tipped nail. “I’ll kill you! You bruised my wing, you bastard!”
The brute’s eyes widened, and his breathing grew deep. That hot, sharp gaze of his studied her so closely that she felt as though she might combust from the heat of it alone. He took a step toward.
“I said stop!” She shoved as much power as she could into her voice.
Her wing/arm might be bruised, but she wasn’t helpless. No Breed was ever really helpless. They just liked to make you think they were.
Then again, he was a bear. A big bear. A big, freaking sexy bear.
But the man, who she’d secretly been stalking for the past month—because, holy crap, was he nice to look at—didn’t even flinch. Instead, with a growl that rumbled straight through his chest, he rushed her. His arms came up, ready to snatch her and probably make mincemeat of her. Breed didn’t typically eat each other. But if they were hungry enough… well, anything was fair game.
Bronwyn shrieked, keeping a firm grip on her red yarn—she’d die if she lost it, which might be an exaggeration, but whatever—and turned on her heel. She had no idea why the bear shifter was after her, but she wasn’t about to stop and find out.
The first time she’d seen the man chopping wood behind the cabin, she’d assumed he was human. Not once had she caught him in shifted form. And considering they lived on Kodiak Island, which a crap-ton of brown bears already called home, the smell of bear hadn’t exactly raised any red flags for her.
It was the reason she’d maintained her shifter façade whenever she’d neared him. Exposing oneself to humans was mostly frowned upon amongst the Breed—what all shifters or magical entities, no matter what species, were known as.
Bronwyn had thought she was half in love with him just based on looks alone—because she was totally superficial that way—until he’d thrown a stick at her head, barely missing her by a scant few inches.
Now she just hated his guts and was ready to rip him a new one. Except of course, she was a crow to his bear. And he was one angry, angry bear, judging from the grunting, growling, and swearing he was doing.
“Stop!” he roared.
Yes, roared. It was all shivery and deep and made her insides feel as though they’d suddenly been punched with fire and electricity all at once.
“You wish!” she shot back, slamming her hands down on the upended stump of an oak. She lithely hopped over it, wincing only because her wrist hurt like a son of a bitch.
Crows were faster, smarter, and generally prettier than bears. But bears were stronger, so much stronger.
Glancing over her shoulder, she shuddered when the big guy didn’t even bother to jump. He was in an in between stage of transformation between man and beast. Instead, he slammed his furry palms into the tree stump and sent it flying like a mini missile into a larger tree. Said tree groaned and shook from the blast.
“Holy eff,” she whimpered. But not because she was terrified. Oh no, if only that was the case. The truth was, that little show of power had totally turned her on.
For the past few days, she’d been lusting after Hunky, her nickname for him. Seeing him all hulked up and ragey made her lick her lips with the delicious anticipation of flirting with danger.
Crows enjoyed the game—the hunt, the chase, the unknown. And she was no exception.
She’d found him attractive and somewhat interesting, though he hadn’t done much other than build a platform out of wood the day before. The past few weeks, he mostly just slept and ate and generally did what bears did in their sleep, which wasn’t always pleasant-smelling, but whatevs. He was sleeping, and it had been halfway adorable. Now, though… oh yeah, now he was making her think crazy, stupid thoughts.
She was thinking things like stop running, turn around, thrust out her hips, and demand he do something to quench the fire burning through her loins.
Normally, she doubted she’d have that type of reaction to just any male, but Bronwyn wasn’t just a simple crow.
No, she was a crow who’d just entered her first heat cycle and was ready to rumble.
Power pulsed through her, making her laugh with giddy excitement as she increased her speed.
She knew those woods like she knew the back of her bruised hand. She swerved, hopped, and wiggled in between spaces that no bear, even in human form, could fit through.
Leading him on a merry chase turned her crappy morning into something wonderfully exciting and unsure.
Would she be caught? Wouldn’t she? Who knew, and who cared? That was not the purpose of this chase.
This chase was all about one thing—seeing if he was worthy to mate her, to mark her with his scent.
It wasn’t uncommon for Breed to mate outside of their kind. Some even formed lifelong attachments.
Bronwyn had had sex before, but she’d never had sex while in heat. The entire experience of this encounter was different for her. The foreplay was almost more exciting than the sexual act itself.
Her blood pounded through her veins, and the earth magick pulsed in waves up her naked heels, filling her body so that even her soul tingled pleasurably inside of her.
She heard the heavy breaths of a powerful male, tearing the woods up behind her as he tried desperately to get to her. Oh yeah, she was totally turned on right now.
“What’s your name, male?” She tossed the question over her shoulder, not even pausing for breath. She could run for miles if need be.
“Chance Hawthorne,” he grunted.
She sped up her pace a little when she realized he was a little too close for comfort. The air at her back quivered, as though he’d made a swipe for her.
Laughing, she reached deep inside of herself, tapping into an unknown reservoir of speed she hadn’t known she possessed.
Her sisters had told her the mating season would bring all sorts of fun and interesting surprises for her, and boy, they’d been right.
The ground beneath her feet was wet and spongy like moss from all the rain. Mud splattered up the backs and fronts of her legs, but she didn’t care. She’d never felt more alive.
“Chance. Chance. Chance,” she trilled. “Tell me, Chance, why did you throw that bit of wood at me?” She ducked beneath a low, overhanging branch and laughed when she heard a hard smack and then Chance spluttering angrily. Clearly, the big, cumbersome oaf hadn’t had time to stop before running into it.
Entering a clearing, Bronwyn sailed through it as though she flew on the currents above. Her amber hair whipped behind her like a banner, surely a temptation for him.
With a happy smile on her face, she spread her arms wide and imagined she really was flying. Legend called many of the Breed fae-born. No doubt, she appeared like some crazy sprite in mid-flight.
Glancing back over her shoulder with a coy grin, she slowed her pace a little when she noted Chance had lagged behind a few paces. Unlike her, bears weren’t known for their stamina.
Even though he breathed heavily and sweat ran in rivulets down his chest and neck, he was still the most gorgeous male she’d ever seen.
“I thought you were a stupid bird,” he grunted.
Points for not lying
at least. Still…
“I am just a stupid bird,” she said with a sharp nip to her words.
He shook his head, wearing a look of utter concentration on his face. She knew he had to be getting tired.
But she’d figured out one thing—why he’d chased her. If he’d just been a bear on the hunt for food, he would have quit by then. She’d taken him at least three miles deep, if not more, but there was no pause in him.
And the breeze carried an amazing, irresistible scent of bergamot and heady, midnight spices. Her favorite smells in the world. That could only mean one thing. He was on the mating hunt. How very interesting.
“I should rip your eyes out and feed them to my sisters,” she said with a giggle, running just a tad bit faster, forcing him to keep up or back off.
Snorting—such a bearish trait—he pumped his arms harder. This bear meant business.
“I didn’t mean it, Crazy.”
She snickered at his unrepentant comeback. Chance was certainly no pansy. If he’d dithered and stuttered, giving her false praise just to get in her pants—or lack thereof—she would have lost interest. But he was fun. And she liked fun.
In another mile or so, they would reach a riverbed, which was normally dry, but after all the rain, no doubt it would be a rushing tide. They would be on crow territory then, and he would be unable to follow her inside without the prior approval of the grand dame Annilida. The prestigious woman also happened to be her sire—mother in human speech.
She would have a choice to make—hop the river and make it safely across, or…
“Tell me, Chance, what is your favorite color?”
She smelled the rush of running water up ahead and caught a flash of silver from the sunlight, dappling and dancing over the raging rapids. She looked back over her shoulder. Everything depended on what he said now.
“Huh?” His face twisted into a scowl, and he stumbled. It was so oddly adorable that her own pace slowed. He was such a giant of a man with a big beautiful chest, tight, tight abs, and that dark, sun-tanned flesh.
Gods, he was nummy num. Eye candy, really. Or bird food. Whatever she wanted to call it, that’s what he was for her. He was like crack on two legs.
“Color, bear, what is it?” She lifted a brow, slowing her speed significantly. He would believe he stood a chance, but if he failed to answer her correctly, he was so going to lose.
His arms came out, his body crouching into a maneuver in which he could jump and trap her down beneath him. She tensed, waiting to hear the words, her body quivering as the change began to rush upon her.
“Red. I love red.”
Right answer.
She smiled.
He jumped, and she let him catch her.
Chapter 3
Chance
Just before jumping, he looked at her, really looked at her. He looked at the sensual curves of her lush body, and at the play of sunlight dancing across her burnished hair that fell in soft waves around her shoulders.
Her face was part avian part Greek goddess, and all feminine sensuality. She had a gently rounded chin, a sharp yet delicately pointed nose, cupid-shaped lips, slashing cheekbones, and inky black, almond-shaped eyes.
The bird wasn’t as busty as he normally preferred his women, her breasts a little smaller than what he typically liked. Yet on her, the perfectly shaped, pearlescent orbs had bounced alluringly as she’d kept her pace timed so she was precisely an arm’s length ahead of him. She had granted him the perfect view, aware that she moved in a way that displayed her body to its maximum potential.
She had long, shapely legs that looked as if they went on for miles. Her strong, milky white arms didn’t have the slightest of spots or blemishes on them. In fact, none of her was freckled.
She was porcelain fine, looking as though she’d been crafted by the hands of a master and breathed to life by some ancient god of yore.
When she’d stopped running, so had he. He could no more control himself than the sun could resist rising each morning, as if he was tethered to her in some way, from some instinctual place deep inside of him. He already felt his breaths beginning to time themselves to the rise and fall of her chest and felt the powerful surge of blood rush through his veins. Power—raw, primitive, and ancient—came to life inside of him. The slumbering grizzly had risen from his long hibernation. Colors, once dull and muted, now sparkled every shade of brilliance. Something inside of his brain clicked, and he stopped thinking completely.
She’d turned to him, unfathomable dark eyes as deep as the darkest ocean had gazed on him with challenge burning bright in them. Come take me, she said, and he had no choice but to obey.
Chance launched himself at her.
If she tried to run, he’d chase her down again, and again, and again. He would always find her no matter where she went because her scent was deep inside of him now. Wildflowers and sweet almond—that smell of woman, his woman, had driven like a spear through his brain. Her scent obliterated all reason, common sense, and even his survival instinct.
Nothing mattered to him at that moment but having her.
Tempting. Alluring. Seductive. She was all that and more.
Then Chance was on her, rolling her down to the ground with him, holding her tightly to his strong chest, shielding her from the impact of the fall. He barely even felt the scrape and cuts from the stones gouging into his back.
She was on him, her legs twined with his. Her palms flattened, and her fingers splayed wide across his bare chest. His heart was a hammer, beating inside him—boom, boom, boom—and the music was hers alone. Forever hers…
She laughed, the sound as bright and clear as a pretty spring day. And he kissed her. She tasted of sunshine and sweet berries. Her little tongue darted between his lips. Her touch was as manic as his.
The air grew redolent with the smell of flowers and her need. The crow was in season.
He growled beneath his breath, sliding his palm down her spine slowly, sensually. His touch was meant to incite her to a riot of want and need, stopping only when he reached the gentle dip where her back met buttocks.
She squirmed, and the cutest trilling sound slipped from between her luscious lips—a bird song, in human form. He’d never heard such a thing. But his woman was singing for him. Her song was so beautiful and tender that it was all he could do not to lose himself in the cadence and rhythm of it.
His woman—what was her name?
“What is your name, siren?” he half-moaned. Her hand slid between their flushed, excited bodies, and she delicately scraped at the tip of his excruciatingly hard length.
She smiled, exposing beautiful white teeth. In an instant, he noted that the very middle tooth on her bottom was slightly crooked, overlapping her other tooth just a little. But even that was adorable.
If he’d been able to think just a little, he might have questioned his sudden “everything was just so cute” train of thought, but Chance was firmly gripped by the instinct to mate and claim. He was as brainless as a one-celled organism at that point.
She was cute. And he wanted to stick his cock in her. That was pretty much the extent of what he was capable of thinking at the moment.
“Wouldn’t you love to know?” She nuzzled his nose, then in a move he had not expected, she clenched her thighs and rolled him on top of her.
He sat flush between her pretty, and very naked thighs. He couldn’t help himself. He had to look down. Then he gasped like a virgin stumbling into the girls’ locker room. His woman was shaved. Bald, wet, and…
“Gods, you’re cute,” he mumbled, then dipped a finger between her slick folds. He hissed as his entire body shook from the overwhelming sensations running rampant through him.
It took a second for his brain to process what he’d just said. Had he really just called her vagina cute?
His woman laughed, tossing her arms out wide as her cute little breasts bobbed enticingly.
“Okay. I don’t think I’ve ever been called that b
efore. Now listen up, grizzly. I don’t need to be wooed, given flowers, chocolates, or anything like that,” she said in a deep husky voice that caused him to look up, momentarily distracted from the pretty jewel gleaming wetly for him. “All I want is for you to take that delicious-looking, hard cock of yours and slide it deep inside of me. Think you can do that, big boy?” She squeezed his biceps gently.
He couldn’t help but flex in return for her, stupidly delighted when laughter danced through her fathomless eyes. He nodded. “I think I can.”
“Good.” She used her nails this time and scratched at his biceps, hard enough to make him wince and hiss, but not with pain. Dear gods, not with pain.
A growl of hunger tore through his chest, dropped off his tongue, and he attacked her lips with his own, ravishing her, devouring her. He used his tongue, his mouth, and even his teeth.
Bears mated violently for the first time, almost brutally. They rarely went outside of their own kind because of the ferocity of the joining. Few shifters could handle what they gave.
But his woman could.
She was a fierce warrior, scratching, nipping, and clawing. Wrapping those mile-long legs around his middle and locking them at the ankles, she gave him the kind of come-hither stare he’d only ever dreamed of seeing in a woman’s eyes.
Chance couldn’t think anymore. He sank his cock deep inside her slick heat, clenching his back molars hard at the way she gloved him.
“Gods,” she hissed, trembling in his arms.
Pride surged through his bones. With the strength of the bear rolling through him, Chance somehow found himself back on his feet with her still locked tightly to him. He didn’t think about what he was doing. The only thought in his head was to claim her forever.
He walked them toward the trunk of a tree that’d had its bark rubbed bald from years of bears scratching themselves on it. Then he slammed her up against it.
She laughed, banding her arms so tightly around his neck that he could hardly breathe. But who needed breath anyway? Breathing was highly overrated during such a time.
Grunting, he widened his legs, clamped one hand to the base of the massive tree, and held her tightly with the other. Then Chance moved his hips, dancing deep inside of her, thrusting with animalistic intent to dominate and own.
Chance: Mating Fever (Bears of Kodiak Book 1) Page 2
