Prince of Bears: Autumn Court #2 (Rosethorn Valley Fae Romance)

by Tasha Black

It wouldn’t have taken long to change her clothing and get her hands on some mortal coin. But why was she making up a story to go along with it?

  Something about her tone was so reasonable, like she really believed what she was saying.

  “Thank you,” she told him as she placed the apron carefully on the countertop.

  Heath winced.

  “What?” she asked.

  “We don’t say that,” he reminded her gently.

  Surely, she knew that much. Had she really forgotten even the basic rules of Faerie?

  “We don’t say what?” she asked.

  “We don’t imply a burden of debt with words like the ones you just said,” he explained.

  “It all seems so real,” she murmured, as if to herself, shaking her head slightly.

  “What seems real, my love?” he asked.

  “You, the house, the… world,” she said. “But I know I must be dreaming.”

  “Why would you think you are dreaming?” he asked her.

  But she merely smiled and reached out a tentative hand to stroke his cheek.

  He closed his eyes and leaned into her touch.

  When she took her hand away, he opened his eyes and saw she was looking up at him longingly.

  “Let’s get you in the bath,” he murmured.

  She helped him to remove her chemise and peel the little skirt down.

  He removed her shoes and willed himself not to go wild as he helped her remove her strange undergarments.

  If she was trying to fit in with the mortals, she had certainly paid attention to the details. The scrap of silky material he pulled down her thighs was hardly worthy of being called a garment at all.

  At last she stood before him, naked but for the improvised bandage still wrapped around her wrist. The candlelight accentuated every dimple and curve. She was delicious.

  But she was looking modestly at the floor.

  It was the first time she reminded him of the overly-humble woman he had met before. The Fae were not ashamed of their bare bodies.

  He began to undress as well, quickly, so as to make her feel more comfortable.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “I’m getting in there with you,” he told her. “You’re weak as a kitten. We can’t have you hitting your head.”

  He wasn’t entirely sure if he was trying to convince her, or merely trying to justify it to himself. He expected her to argue, but she appeared to be too busy staring at his chest in open admiration to bother.

  He grinned, glad if his looks could speed this seduction along.

  Not that he planned to take advantage of her as she was tonight. But if he could stoke a craving in her, it would bode well for both courts.

  It would bode well for me, his inner voice laughed.

  And it was true. The Autumn Court was not really foremost in his thoughts anymore when he thought of claiming the girl. He wanted her badly for his own reasons, which were making themselves known.

  She gasped almost inaudibly as he pulled down his breeches.

  He was not ashamed for her to know how much he wanted her. But he did not want her to be frightened.

  “I cannot hide my attraction to you,” he admitted. “But I will not act on that instinct. Not tonight, at least.”

  Her eyes locked onto his and he felt a shockwave of need.

  “Come on, let’s get in,” he said through a clenched jaw.

  She took the hand he offered and together they stepped into the water.

  Warmth soaked into his bones as they sank into the water.

  She made a sound of satisfaction that set his blood on fire.

  I want her to make that sound for me…

  “Let’s clean those cuts and scrapes,” he said, hoping that getting down to the business of caring for her would help tamp down his desire.

  She extended her hands to him, so trusting.

  “This will sting,” he warned her.

  She nodded.

  He poured out a few drops of milk and honey soap and massaged them into her skin, then let go so she could rinse.

  “Okay?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Shall we look at the bigger cut?” he asked.

  She loosened the makeshift bandage around her wrist.

  He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that the wound wasn’t as bad as he’d first thought, and showed no signs of infection.

  “We’ll keep an eye on it,” he told her as he very gently cleaned the area. “But I think it will be just fine, no scarring.”

  “Than… that sounds good,” she said.

  She had stopped herself from thanking him. Again.

  This was truly unusual. Many things about her confusion made sense, but not that. Such simple manners should have been too deeply ingrained in her to forget.

  “Let me bathe you,” he offered. “You’ve got leaves in your hair, and I’m sure you don’t want to wash yourself when your hands are stinging.”

  She looked down at the water and nodded.

  Was she ashamed of her desire?

  The fair folk did not apologize for lust. It was a part of them, one more hunger to be fed.

  “Lean back and wet your hair, lass,” he suggested.

  She did as she was told, displaying her beautiful breasts to him in the process.

  He wrenched his eyes away from the firm peaks of her nipples and focused on massaging his hands through her hair.

  The bath passed slowly, in long minutes that felt like hours of torture. The contact with her soft, warm form was making him wild with need that would not be satisfied tonight.

  At last they were both fragrant and clean.

  “Let’s get some rest,” he told her.

  She allowed him to help her out of the bath and towel off.

  He carried her to bed, praying for the strength to leave her there and go to one of the guest suites.

  But when he pulled the blankets up over her and stood to go, her eyes grew wide.

  “Don’t,” she begged him.

  “You need rest, my love,” he told her.

  “P-please,” she whispered.

  He couldn’t stand the idea of her being cold or frightened.

  Knowing it was a mistake, Prince Heath of Autumn climbed into bed with the woman he hoped would be his wife.

  7

  Willow

  Willow begged herself to keep breathing as Heath crawled into bed with her, wrapping his body around hers and drawing her close as if to warm her.

  The heat of his bare skin against hers made her feel as if her heart would beat right out of her chest.

  “Gods,” he murmured. “You feel so good.”

  Willow pressed herself closer still, as if her flesh could memorize his.

  He gazed down at her, his eyes burning, jaws tense with need.

  Slowly, so slowly, she reached out to stroke his cheek as she had when he was a bear.

  He turned his head and pressed a searing kiss to her palm at the last moment.

  Willow gasped.

  “You are mine, princess,” he whispered.

  When he kissed her again, it was on her lips.

  Willow kissed him back as her heart crashed against her ribs.

  He devoured her mouth, his tongue stroking hers, one hand tangling in her hair, the other clutching her close.

  Willow whimpered into his mouth.

  She had never wanted anything as much as she wanted this man.

  He groaned in response and pulled back.

  “You are mine,” he told her again, his voice husky with lust.

  “Yours,” she echoed.

  He kissed her again, hard enough to bruise her lips, but not hard enough to satisfy her.

  She slid her hands up the hard planes of his chest, flattening her palms so as not to miss a millimeter of contact.

  He dragged his mouth away from hers, sucking and biting at the tender place where her neck met her shoulder, then moving downward to fli
ck and lap at her nipples with his clever tongue.

  Willow moaned and arched her back.

  He sucked one nipple hard, practically drawing her whole breast into his mouth. His other hand teased and rolled the other nipple.

  Willow screamed with unsatisfied need.

  Heath drew back, his eyes dark and filled with hunger. “I will not lay claim to you tonight.”

  Willow nearly wept with frustration.

  “But I will solace you,” he told her.

  Then he was kissing his way down her belly, nudging her thighs apart, spreading her open and gazing down at her as if he were starving.

  She closed her eyes and the next thing she felt was the yawning pleasure of his mouth on her sex.

  Heath lashed her with his tongue, teasing her until she could hardly breath.

  “Please,” she whimpered.

  His tongue swirled and flicked in response, pushing her so close.

  “I need you,” she wailed.

  He growled against her opening and she trembled in response.

  Her hips quivered as he continued his ministrations.

  Willow was on the rack, desperate for relief.

  “Please,” she cried out brokenly again as he eased a big finger inside her and began massaging her from the inside as he lapped and sucked.

  Heath froze.

  Then he was crawling up to her, caging her head in his arms, pinning her to the bed with his huge body.

  “Is this what you want?” he growled.

  “Please.”

  It was the only word she could remember, so she repeated it, again and again.

  Heath took himself in his hand.

  She felt the rigid heat of him against her sex, pressing in so slowly she nearly fainted with anticipation.

  There was a hint of pain as her body stretched to accommodate his girth, and then rippling waves of glorious pleasure.

  “Ohhh,” she whimpered as she felt her body locking down on him, so close…

  Hissing in a breath, he drew himself out and plunged into her again.

  Willow wailed and sank her nails into his shoulders.

  Heath seemed to surrender to his own need. He thrust into her again and again as she jogged her hips up to him, desperate for the spark that would light her up.

  “Gods,” he groaned and slid a hand between them to toy so gently with her stiff little pearl.

  Instantly, Willow felt herself flying.

  The room around them disappeared and there was only Heath’s body and the wild moans that she realized were her own.

  When her pleasure finally crashed down, she felt him swelling impossibly inside her, jetting out his own ecstasy as he cried out hoarsely.

  In the wake of their wildness, there was a moment of utter peace.

  Willow swore she could hear the heartbeat of the universe.

  Then Heath collapsed on her chest, panting, murmuring words of praise.

  She curled herself around him instinctively, as if she could make this fantasy real if she held on tightly enough.

  8

  Heath

  Heath awoke to the sound of singing.

  He opened his eyes, feeling happy already. If Ashe was singing, it meant she had no regrets.

  And hopefully, she was feeling more herself today.

  Instinctively, he looked down at his hand.

  Tiny black vines had appeared, like a tattoo, reaching from his ring finger and winding down around his wrist.

  The meaning was clear for all to see. A prince had claimed his princess last night. All was well.

  He padded to the bathroom, cleaned himself up and pulled on a pair of soft suede breeches that hung low on his hips.

  He left his shirt off, smiling to himself at the idea that it would stoke Ashe’s interest.

  The kitchen was suffused with soft morning light and rich, delicious smells.

  His darling one was dancing and singing as she pulled something out of the oven. She wore one of his shirts, which barely skimmed her hips.

  The song was nothing he had heard before, something upbeat about not being able to wait, and it being fate, and her being his. As she swayed and sang, he caught glimpses of her scant undergarments.

  He chuckled and she turned quickly.

  “Sorry, lass,” he said. “I was just enjoying the view.”

  “I made you breakfast,” she said, looking a little sheepish.

  “That was a nice song you were singing,” he told her. “Just right for the situation.”

  She laughed, a grateful expression on her face. “In my world, that was in the top one hundred for over a year.”

  Gods in heaven she was still confused.

  He’d hoped their joining would have brought her back to her senses.

  “Baked French toast,” she said, bringing the heavenly concoction closer. “Where are your plates?”

  “You’re still limping,” he noticed, although it wasn’t as bad as last night.

  “I’ll be fine,” she said. “But I do need to get in touch with my brother and the manager of the Barry White.”

  “Your brothers,” he breathed.

  Ashe’s brothers were the powerful princes of the Winter Kingdom. They would be furious when they heard he had claimed her without their blessing.

  “Just one brother,” she said. “Although we tend to only talk on holidays, so I doubt he’ll even notice I’m gone. But my boss is going to be well pissed when I don’t show up for my shift.”

  “We don’t have telephones here, but I’m sure we can get word to anyone you want,” he told her. “Also, there’s a woman who lives on my land that knows a bit about medicine. We’ll go visit her after breakfast and see about your ankle.”

  And your memory.

  She nodded and put up no further argument.

  He prepared tea while she served up the breakfast, and they sat at the table by a huge window to eat.

  Snowflakes were still drifting down. Instead of melting against the ground, they had begun collecting in the grass. It was a little unsettling. He’d never seen snow on the ground in his kingdom before.

  He almost asked Ashe if she was making it snow. But if she was, she clearly didn’t know it.

  It occurred to him that it could be a result of her condition. Maybe part of her Winter Court self was struggling to get through.

  “Is it too sweet?” she asked when she noticed he’d stopped eating.

  “No, it’s absolutely delicious,” he assured her as he took a big bite. Almost nothing was too sweet for the Fae. “I love the texture.”

  “I got this recipe from my friend, Ramón, at work,” she said. “He’s a phenomenal cook.”

  He nodded and took another bite, wondering how he was supposed to continue the conversation when he was concerned that she was delusional, and yet still somehow jealous of her relationship with her imaginary friend.

  “Do you like to cook?” she asked him.

  “Yes,” he said. “I cook for myself when I’m here because I like my privacy. It’s not easy to learn.”

  “I’ll show you how to make this sometime,” she offered.

  “That would be very nice,” he told her.

  “Look,” she said, holding her hand out and marveling at the vines that trailed around it. “You have one too.”

  He twined his fingers in hers, so they could see both their tattoos at once.

  “How did you do that?” she asked. “Is it henna?”

  He wasn’t sure what that was. But he knew the meaning of the entwined vines. She should have, too.

  “It’s a mark that shows we are betrothed,” he told her gently. “It appears on its own when a prince claims his princess.”

  She gazed at him, her head tilted slightly as if she were trying to tell whether or not he was serious.

  “I’m going to clean up while you finish your tea,” he told her as he busied himself gathering up dishes so she couldn’t see the concern on his face. “Then we’ll go see Mother
Alma about your ankle.”

  He tidied up while she sipped tea and looked out the window.

  It was nice to have company here, even nicer to know this woman was his.

  It was only a matter of helping her throw off this charm, or whatever it was that kept her from her true self.

  It occurred to Heath that maybe it wouldn’t be a bad thing if she stayed exactly the way she was. After all, this was the version of her he’d fallen so hard for. But he knew that he’d love her, no matter what. Every bit of her filled him with delight.

  And she certainly seemed joyous enough.

  He only hoped that she would come out of the charm as happy to be promised to him as she was now.

  9

  Willow

  Willow rode on the big bear’s back again as the snow fell all around them.

  It was easier when Heath was in this form. They didn’t have to talk about things.

  Like the fact that he refused to call her by her name.

  Or that he’d said he had claimed her as his princess.

  This left her in silence to contemplate the fact that although she’d been convinced this was a dream, she had woken up this morning still in the middle of it.

  Which meant that either she was actually out of her mind, or the land of Faerie was real.

  And that brought her back to last night, when she’d been falling down the hillside into the rushing river and willed herself to freeze.

  And landed on solid ice.

  Willow had always had… quirks. The odd little things that happened around her had always been too small to take much notice of, though they had been more frequent lately.

  But she had never, ever experienced anything like the river before. Maybe this was reality, and the life she thought she had lived was the dream.

  While she was pondering, they reached their destination.

  A small thatched roof cottage stood at the edge of the trees, with the snowy peaks of giant mountains just visible in the distance behind it. The whole building leaned slightly to the left, as if it were listening sympathetically.

  Two wooden planters on each side of the cottage reminded Willow of her mother’s herb gardens. Though these were covered in a fine layer of snow, so she couldn’t see what they contained.