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

by Tasha Black

  He made a sound of satisfaction in the back of his throat at the feel of her bare body pressed to his.

  She kissed his cheeks, his nose, his forehead, feeling frenzied with need and longing.

  She could feel him smiling under her kisses and her heart melted like it was made of chocolate.

  She kissed her way down his neck, pressing her lips to the broad planes of his chest, nuzzling his abs, and drinking in his rich woodsy scent.

  “Willow,” he murmured.

  Well, at least he knew her name now. And it sounded so good coming out of his mouth. As good as he was about to feel in hers.

  She kissed lower and found him rock-hard and waiting.

  12

  Heath

  Heath closed his eyes and braced himself.

  But nothing could have prepared him for the jolt of pleasure he felt when Willow’s velvet tongue began to caress him.

  He cried out and fought the urge to tangle his hands in her hair and urge her on.

  Willow hummed her pleasure against him and continued her slow teasing, lapping at him, taking him just barely into her cruel mouth and then easing off him again, flicking her tongue against his most sensitive spots as she found them, and then slowly drawing him in again, deeper and deeper.

  Heath had been spoiled with every pleasure he could imagine, until it barely registered as pleasure anymore.

  But this teasing ecstasy was more than he could bear. And at the same time he never wanted it to end.

  Willow moaned around him and his resolve nearly broke.

  “Stop, love,” he warned her.

  She redoubled her efforts, blinding him with pleasure.

  With the last of his willpower, he grasped her by the shoulders and pulled her from him.

  She whimpered in protest, but allowed him to snuggle her to his chest.

  “Gods, woman,” he whispered to her, his body still reeling. “You’ll drive me mad.”

  She was driving him well past that point already. Her soft breasts pressed against his chest, and he was half-drunk on the sweet perfume that was her scent.

  She wiggled her hips in response, and he smiled.

  “Take me, love,” he told her.

  She slid herself up and took him in her hands.

  He prayed for the strength not to fall apart immediately as she slowly lowered herself onto him.

  She sighed as she took him all the way in.

  The light of the bedside lamp glowed in her hair and he watched her, rapt, as she moved herself on him. Her breasts bounced, nipples peaked and perfect, and her belly jiggled just a bit with each thrust. She was softness personified, and he loved her with every fiber of his being.

  He reached up to take her hands, enjoying the way the vines on their fingers twined together.

  Willow’s own pleasure was upon her now and he lost himself in her small sounds and the expression on her beautiful face as she found her ecstasy.

  The sight was too much for him and he exploded inside her, the pleasure like a living thing, devouring him from the inside.

  When it was done, he pulled her down on top of him, curling himself around her protectively.

  Yes, there was something different about his princess.

  Whatever it was, he would discover it, and help her in any way she asked of him. Even if she did not ask, he would support her with everything he had.

  He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep feeling wildly happy.

  13

  Willow

  Willow lay awake as the first light of dawn tried to force its way through the still-raging storm outside.

  Heath’s body was curled protectively around hers, one hand resting on her tummy, as if he instinctively knew about the baby she was building in there. Contentment seemed to exude from his pores as he slept.

  But Willow had no way to know if it was love for her, or merely the sexual release that gave him the slight smile he wore in his sleep.

  She very slowly slipped out of his embrace and padded into the bathroom.

  After she freshened up, she headed for the kitchen to see about a cup of warm tea, but the sight of the driving snow outside distracted her from her purpose.

  She wandered closer to the window, studying the swirling eddies of white against the slowly brightening sky.

  Heath seemed to think it was a magical storm. Was it fueled by her magic?

  And if she had caused it somehow, could she stop it?

  You might be the most powerful Winter Fae in a generation.

  Mother Alma’s words echoed in her head. If they were true, she should be able to do something to stop the blizzard and save her doppelgänger.

  Willow pushed open the glass doors and stepped out onto the snow-covered balcony, closing the doors behind her as silently as she could. She walked to the edge and leaned out over the railing, feeling the cold embrace her like a long-lost love.

  Snow thrashed down on the meadow below, turning the trees into lumpy, white ghosts.

  She closed her eyes and extended her hands, palms up, like the wizards did in the movies. She wasn’t really sure how it was supposed to work, and she didn’t have much else to go on.

  There was a connection between her and the snow, tenuous but real, like a loop extending from someplace deep inside her out into the swiftly falling flakes and back again.

  She opened her eyes and moved her hands, watching the snow swirl slightly in the wake of her movements.

  Or maybe it was just the wind.

  She tried again, moving her right hand in a circle.

  The snow followed merrily, rushing around in a little tornado.

  She circled her left hand and another gust followed.

  Encouraged, she moved both hands like an orchestra conductor.

  She felt the movement burst inside her chest first, and then it followed out into the sky, where the snow formed swirling curlicue patterns before subsiding into a regular storm again.

  She smiled and tried something different, building something imaginary with her hands and then watching the roiling skies.

  Suddenly the snow formed a ghostly bear shape that frolicked and played with another bear shape across the sky. Though the creatures were made of wind and snowflakes, they seemed to have real weight and spirit.

  The magic was coursing through her veins now, she could feel it in every part of her being.

  Snow foxes and rabbits chased each other between the bears. Snow trees rose out of the ground. Universes of snow twinkled above the animals.

  But the storm seemed to be increasing now instead of slowing.

  Willow sorrowfully realized that to do what she had to do, the storm had to end.

  Focusing every cell of her body to bend the magic, she closed her eyes as she swept her hands upward then brought them crashing down, like she was dashing the very idea of the storm against the ground below.

  The snow-animals and stars collapsed back into a regular snowfall, but the storm raged on.

  Frustrated, she tried a second time.

  Nothing.

  She wasn’t special after all. And now she felt silly for believing any of that talk in the first place. Doubt washed over her, colder than the falling snow.

  She wasn’t ready to be important.

  She wasn’t ready to have an entire kingdom depending on her to prevent some kind of war.

  She wasn’t ready to be a mother.

  The barrage of thoughts assaulted her, swirling around in her head like a storm of their own, threatening to bury her under their crushing weight.

  Stop, she thought to herself. Make it stop.

  Instantly, the snow was gone.

  The storm did not slow or abate. It ended abruptly, leaving a blue autumn sky in its wake.

  The door behind her flew open.

  14

  Heath

  Heath awoke alone, gasping for breath.

  His peaceful dreams had spiraled into a nightmare where Willow was gone, taking the sunshine fro
m his world and leaving him in darkness.

  He leapt out of bed before he was fully awake, and dashed through the lodge searching for her, dread forming a hollow pit in his stomach.

  It was on his second sprint through the kitchen that he sensed her presence.

  He turned to find her standing on the balcony, arms outstretched, as the snow formed a menagerie of woodland creatures, cavorting at her beckoning.

  Willow was exquisite, standing barefoot in the snow, one of his white shirts billowing around her small, curvy body as she summoned snow-creatures from the storm.

  He had feared for her safety, longed to protect her, and he still did. But in watching her command the elements like a child’s playthings, he appreciated fully how capable she was on her own. Willow had learned of her magic only hours ago. And already she was bending a raging storm to her will.

  His princess was indeed powerful. Pride surged in his chest at the thought.

  With a sudden movement of her arms she erased the swirling snow creatures. She seemed to struggle with something for a moment, her head hanging low for a moment, as if she was lost in thought.

  He was headed to join her when the storm clouds overhead disappeared completely, as if they had never darkened the sky in the first place.

  “No,” he cried, running out the door.

  But it was too late, the sky was ocean blue above them, and the white frosting was already melting from the trees.

  Willow turned to face him, startled.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “We have to go,” he told her. “We have to leave, now.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  “That was amazing, my love,” he told her. “But a display of power like that will let them know you are here. We have to leave, before they find us and try to take you away.”

  “Who?” she asked.

  “Whoever started the storm,” he said.

  Her face was a mask of regret.

  This idea clearly hadn’t occurred to her. And why would it? She was new to the ways of Faerie.

  “We’ll be okay, my love,” he reassured her. “But we have to go now.”

  She nodded and headed inside, stopping only to pull on a pair of his too-big breeches and her socks and shoes.

  He pulled a pair of gloves out of a drawer and watched her pull them onto her hands, sad to see her cover the entwined vines that marked their bond, but glad for her to be warm and protected.

  He wrapped the cloak around her, not stopping for the kiss he badly wanted. Her safety had to come first.

  They stepped out the front door and he slipped into his bear form.

  The sight of the melting snow faded, his senses overwhelmed with the regular scents of the forest coming back to him. And the delicious scent of his mate, of course.

  She climbed onto his back and he sailed off the porch and landed on all four paws, Willow’s surprised laughter ringing happily in his ears.

  He ran full out for the trees behind the house.

  Once they were safely ensconced in the woods, the bear would have an advantage over its pursuers.

  But the whistle of an arrow stopped him short, just before they reached the shadow of the trees. A terrible pain in his left haunch collapsed him to the ground, with Willow still astride.

  He fought the pain, but his bear retreated, leaving him in human form with an arrow in his upper thigh.

  “Run, Willow,” he groaned as he tugged the arrow out, bringing a hunk of flesh with it, and barely managing not to scream in agony.

  “No,” she said through clenched teeth, rising to her feet over him like a mother lioness.

  Unfortunately, her magic knowledge did not match her raw power.

  A battalion of polar bears rushed them, Winter Court elite soldiers, armor gleaming in the sunlight.

  Heath dragged himself to his feet, and willed himself to shift.

  The first bear was on him before he could finish.

  By the time Heath was fully transformed, the thing had its teeth in his scruff and another was piling on.

  That was just fine. The more that attached at once, the less guilty he would feel about the damage that he was about to dispense. Elite soldiers or not, six polar bear shifters couldn’t hold a candle against the bear prince of Autumn.

  He roared in anticipation of bloodshed.

  “No,” Willow screamed.

  He sensed her movement before he could see it.

  If he pushed the fight, she was going to do something stupid and get herself hurt. Fighting on his own was one thing, but he couldn't risk the safety of his princess.

  Bitterly disappointed, Heath went limp and allowed the polar bears to capture him.

  One by one they slid up into Fae form. Not without getting in a last maul or nip on his helpless form beforehand, of course. Honor was never a strong suit of the Winter Court.

  At last they all looked down at him, scoffing, as he curled his big body up in surrender.

  He stole a glance over at Willow.

  Winter soldiers were grabbing her, dragging her away from him.

  He closed his eyes and allowed himself to shift back to his regular form.

  The soldiers hauled him to his feet.

  “Autumn filth,” one of them sneered, spitting on him.

  He put his head down, trying to hear what was happening to Willow.

  “We are most proud to have rescued you from this vile Autumn kidnapper, Princess Ashe,” the captain said to Willow, with a creepy little bow.

  Please play along, Heath begged her inwardly.

  “I was born to the cold and to the cold I shall return,” Willow said in a frigid voice, echoing the statement the midwife had said to her earlier.

  Heath did not manage to hide his smile at her cleverness.

  “What are you so happy about, scumbag?” one of the soldiers asked him.

  “He won’t be smiling in a minute,” another said in a tone of ghoulish anticipation.

  Heath glanced up to see the soldier was wearing gloves up to his elbows and carrying thick chains of cold iron.

  There would be pain.

  He closed his eyes and focused on all his thoughts on Willow as they chained his wrists and ankles in the burning agony of iron.

  The hateful metal sizzled against his Fae skin.

  But he pictured his princess, safe in the coach ahead, and he was able to hold onto his dignity.

  15

  Willow

  Willow stepped out of the coach, reminding herself that she was a princess coming home from a kidnapping - not a frightened tourist desperate to lay eyes on the father of her unborn child.

  The time alone in the coach had given her exactly zero idea of how to pass herself off as Ashe.

  “Your Majesty,” the footman said, bowing low.

  Willow tried not to stare up at the glimmering white limestone walls of the castle behind him.

  A stout woman in a black dress and white apron trotted up to her, slightly out of breath but smiling.

  “Oh, Your Majesty, my sweet girl,” the woman panted. “How glad I am to see that face. Come along, come along, we’ll take care of you.”

  Willow allowed herself to be led up the curving stairs and into the massive foyer of the castle.

  “Come along, love, come, come,” the woman scolded her, half-dragging her thunderstruck charge past statues and paintings worthy of a museum. “Let Iona take care of you, like when you were a wee babe.”

  Willow swallowed at the idea.

  She had been feeling relieved that she was clearly dashing off with a servant rather than being presented to the king and queen. But if this woman had been in charge of raising her, she might know Ashe better than anyone.

  They marched down an endless hallway of what she assumed were family paintings. Stern patrician faces gazed down their noses at Willow as if they knew she didn’t belong.

  I do belong, she told herself.

  But she didn’t feel like she did. It wa
s impossible to think she was anyone other than herself - the daughter of Al and Wendy Ryder of Rosethorn Valley, a waitress with a sweet little apartment over the Barrel Grocery store.

  Iona opened a door, revealing a luxurious suite of rooms.

  “Here we are, dear,” Iona said briskly. “Let’s get you out of those dreadful robes.”

  Iona reached for Willow’s glove-clad hands.

  Willow jerked them back. “I-I’m cold,” she said.

  Iona’s eyes grew wide.

  Too late, Willow realized her mistake. She’d just been walking through a drafty stone castle and hadn’t felt cold at all. She never felt cold. She wondered if it was even possible for a member of the Winter Court to feel cold.

  “You’ve been through a lot, dearie,” Iona said, composing herself. “You can undress yourself for your bath. I’ll be sure to have nice things set out for you.”

  “Th-that would be wonderful,” Willow said, just catching herself before saying thank you. She wouldn’t have been able to overcome that level of faux pas.

  Iona nodded, looking down.

  Willow knew the last thing she should do was ask about Heath, but she couldn’t help herself.

  “What do you think will happen to the man who kidnapped me?” she asked as lightly as she could.

  “It’s not my place to say, dear,” Iona replied thoughtfully. “But I imagine they will ransom him back to his family.”

  Willow nodded, trying not to show her relief. That made sense. The Autumn Court would pay a high price for their prince.

  “They’ve called your brothers home,” Iona went on. “The Winter Court is preparing for war.”

  That was less encouraging.

  “Take your bath, dear,” Iona said. “I’ll be in the antechamber.” She pointed helpfully to a door on the other side of the room. “Just knock if you want help dressing. I will not enter unless you knock. You will have your privacy.”

  Willow felt a pang of guilt. She guessed the woman suspected Willow had been in some way molested, and that was why she was covering herself.