Polar Heat

by Simone Beaudelaire

Riley grinned. Teasing a bear was a synonym for danger, but she felt no fear. Russell, for all that he wasn't quite human, would never harm her. Most I could incite him to do is love me hard. She sashayed over to him, working the buttons of her blouse as she went.

  “Oh yeah? What are you going to do about it, big boy?” The garment dropped to the floor behind her, leaving her in a sleeveless camisole so sheer it left the lace pattern of her bra visible. Russ growled again, but she had already learned the meanings of his bear noises. Now, mock irritation was giving way to desire. Just what I wanted.

  She worked the clasp of her pants, cursing the thick long underwear she wore underneath. Though necessary for all outdoor activities during winter, the thermals were far from sexy. She tugged both layers off at once.

  Standing before him with bare legs and arms, she reached for the hem of her camisole. He arrested her hand. “Oh no you don't,” he rumbled. “That's my job.”

  “Hmmm.” The sound Riley emitted had elements of both hum and whimper. Barred from stripping herself any further, she unbuckled Russell's belt instead. The fastenings of his jeans next succumbed to her nimble fingers. Then the buttons of his red flannel shirt.

  “In a hurry, princess?” he asked.

  “Don't tease me, Russ. Not today,” she urged, pulling his shirt down his arms so it could fall to the floor. A little twitch sent his jeans pooling around his ankles and he stepped free. “Too many layers.”

  “Easy, girl. We have all night.” He lifted her cami over her head and unhooked her bra. “I've missed these,” he rumbled, lifting one breast in each hand and leaning down to lick and nip each bright pink nipple. They reacted to his touch and the cold in the room, springing to full engorgement. He clamped down on one, sucking and tugging it.

  Riley's knees buckled. Russ sensed it immediately and grasped her hips, easing her onto the bearskin in front of the cold fireplace. Then he stripped off his undershirt and boxers. At the sight of his hugely swollen erection, Riley let out a little coo of pleasure and wrapped her hand around the thick shaft. She wouldn't be satisfied until all that rigid heat was buried to the hilt inside her. Her passage seemed to melt into wet, fiery readiness, moisture gathering on the lips of her sex. Russell eased her panties down her thighs.

  “Hmmm,” he rumbled, nuzzling into her wetness. “You smell so good when you're turned on. I love that you can't hide your desire. I've been wanting a taste of this since you got into the plane.”

  Shameless, Riley opened her thighs to admit Russell's probing tongue. He lapped and nibbled at her lacy folds and slipped into her well, but avoided her clitoris.

  “Russell,” she whined, needing direct stimulation.

  He laughed at her eagerness. “Don't rush, sweet girl.”

  “Please. I need you.” She stroked her fingers through his silky white hair.

  “How can I resist your begging? All right, Riley. Is this what you need?” He lapped at the swollen center of her pleasure.

  Immediately, gasping cries of ecstasy tumbled from Riley's lips. She'd known sex was supposed to feel good, but she'd never imagined the exquisite pleasure Russell's fingers, tongue and penis elicited. She would have feared becoming addicted, but she knew she could trust him. Since addiction was inevitable, Riley succumbed as always. Somehow, resisting Russell never turned out to be what she wanted. Now, as always, she completely gave herself over to his touch. It was as though she ceased to exist as an individual person and merged her entire being into his… into theirs. They were one, not only in the bedroom, but in everything. A new creature forged from all the messy, jumbled, impossible shards that made up their damaged souls. Russell filled in her broken places, and it seemed she filled in his, in a way that neither of them could do alone. That was the thought, though she knew he didn't realize it, that he sent her every time they touched.

  As Russell worked her closer to orgasm, Riley's overwhelming desire to draw her lover even closer became impossible to ignore.

  “Please,” she begged again, reaching for him.”

  “You're so close, sweet girl.” Russ said. “Patience.”

  “No, I need you now,” she forced out, laying her hand on his face. “Russell, now!”

  “I want you to come,” he protested, running his thumb over her clit.

  “I will… once you're inside me.”

  Russell gave in quickly, to Riley's relief. In another moment his bulky body was pressing her into the bearskin. Nestled between her parted thighs, he sought and found her entrance and slid deep.

  Riley's toes curled. The arches of her feet seemed to flutter. Her belly clenched. “Oh!” she half gasped, half moaned. Russell pulled back and pushed in again, and Riley lifted her bottom up to meet his thrust with greedy eagerness.

  Cupping the back of his neck in one hand, she drew him down and captured his lips in a loving kiss. Every drive of his sex into her body made shivery bolts of pleasure shoot from the depths of her womanhood up and out, causing her fingers to dig into the rug. The moment gathered taut like a drawn bowstring and Riley lay poised like an arrow, ready to be sprung. Passion, love, desire and trust all flew free at the same instant, in a typhoon of emotion and sensation that crashed over Riley, submerging her completely, so that she was scarcely aware when Russell drove deep and once again bestowed his ecstasy inside her waiting body.

  As awareness returned like pinpricks of light in the expanse of midnight heaven, she murmured, “I love you.” The light gathered and coalesced into Russell's beautiful dark eyes, which shone down into hers like wild stars.

  Chapter 9

  Riley clutched tight to Russell's hand as he walked her into the Den'a village. Though always shy when meeting new people, her keen curiosity kept her eyes darting everywhere. Despite frigid sub-zero temperatures, in the heavy hide and fur outfit he'd insisted she wear she felt somewhat less cold than she'd suspected. A small, frozen river cut through the land, and the town, she saw, had been situated around it, a small ring of long, low cabins, the structures formed of spruce logs. The largest, to which Russ was steering her at top speed, not wanting frostbite to reach through her scarf and hurt her, had been cut into a low hillside. Smart. Use the earth to provide natural temperature regulation. Three towering totem poles, two with wings, all with brightly colored faces, clustered together, seeming to guard the town with their unearthly presence. They watched her with painted eyes, daring her to cause trouble. No worries, she thought. The last thing I want to do is threaten anyone.

  “In the summer,” he informed her, his voice muffled under layers of fabric, “wild flowers grow all around here, and the stream runs with fish. I'll show you some time. But right now…”

  “Right now the world is holding its breath,” she finished for him. “Waiting for the light and the heat to return.”

  “Well put, love.” His eyes twinkled. “You'll fit in just fine.”

  Riley wasn't sure about that. After all, if Russell, who had their blood flowing in his veins, was barely tolerated, how was a white girl from the lower 48 supposed to? But she soldiered on, discomfort squirming in her belly. She wanted to meet her boyfriend's people, and she wasn't about to let her own shyness get in her way.

  Russell steered her through the doorway into a large, open room. The walls of unplastered round logs blocked the wind and added the warmth of their dark, natural color to the space. Pale partial daylight – the only sort available in deep winter – filtered through small, sparkling clean windows to cast shapes and patterns on the wooden floor and colorful rugs. Furs hung on the walls, as well as narrow fringed blankets in purple and taupe with hints of red. An old man and a middle aged one rose from their seats on a black leather sofa and approached.

  “Father, Randy.” Riley's eyes slid to Russell, whose voice suddenly sounded less muffled. He'd removed his muffler from his face and lowered his hood. Good job, Riley, you're standing there like a totem pole. Take off your scarf, doofus. Tugging the furry hood down from around her face, she unwound the
muffler concealing her face.

  “Son, welcome,” the old man intoned. “Is this the woman you mentioned?”

  “Yes, Father,” Russell replied. “This is Riley. Riley, my father, Norman Tadzea.”

  “Welcome,” the man said, though his flat inflection did not sound particularly welcoming. Not unwelcoming either, just… flat.

  “Thank you for inviting me,” she replied. “I want to apologize in advance for any mistakes I make. I'm not familiar with your culture and I don't know how to act.”

  “I understand,” the man said. “We will educate you.”

  “I appreciate that,” she replied.

  Then the younger man – Russell's brother, apparently – addressed her. “Don't worry too much, Riley. We've all met white people before. Mostly they come through in large groups in summer, looking for a 'cultural experience'. We tolerate them.”

  “I'm sure,” she replied. “But I don't want to come across as an idle gawker… though I'm sure I will for a while.”

  “Russell has never brought a woman to meet us before. We will help you,” the middle aged man insisted, a gentle smile curving his sculpted lips and creating grooves around the corners. He's handsome, but not as handsome as Russell. I wonder how old he is. For a moment, the extended lifespan of shifters blew Riley's mind, and she fell silent, trying to still her whirling thoughts.

  “Sorry,” she said, realizing she'd been staring again. “I really appreciate that.” Idiot, you're repeating yourself.

  “Come and sit,” Russell's father invited. “We have hot coffee and breakfast if you are hungry.”

  “Yes, thank you, Father,” Russell agreed easily. “But stay there. I can take care of us. Riley.” He indicated an armchair beside a small round wooden table. Riley removed her coat and hung it on a hook by the door, next to where Russ had left his while she was talking to his family. Then she perched on the chair he'd indicated. Russ moved into another room and returned with two plates balanced on his arm and a cup of coffee in each hand.

  “Goodness, Russ,” she said, startled by his balancing act, “I could have helped you with that. Were you ever a waiter?”

  He laughed, setting a cup of coffee on each of two coasters on the little table before placing her plate in her lap. “No, never a waiter. I'd have to be a lot more social for that.”

  “Is this another bear thing?” she guessed as he sank into a matching chair across the table from her. The two of them sat at right angles to the sofa, where Randy and Russ' father sat in silence, regarding her with curiosity.

  “Maybe,” he replied. “I've never thought about it.”

  She grinned. “Okay then. This smells delicious.” She inhaled the fragrance of the bacon on her plate and her mouth watered. As Riley ate her breakfast, she observed Russell's family. They sat in silence, not talking, laughing or even smiling, and yet there was a sense of calm acceptance around them. This was not an awkward silence that meant discomfort. Instead, these men had such internal peace that they had no need of words. It reminded her of life with her father. Riley-girl, the world is full of chatter. But if you listen, underneath the noise is fear. There is no need to fear silence. It is in the place between words that understanding happens. Listen to the silence, Riley.

  She followed her father's advice, not filling in the moment with words. Yes, she felt nervous, but she controlled her urge to chatter through it. And in time, she found she was able to relax somewhat, immerse herself partway in the day, though her busy mind never truly rested. She bundled up and followed her hosts to the meeting hall, a massive structure, also of evergreen logs, with bare walls. The strongest note of color in the room was the vibrant red and purple regalia some of the people wore. Others had on jeans and sweaters. In a place of honor, a rectangular shape sat draped in a purple woven cloth similar to the ones that decorated Russ' family home.

  “What will happen?” Riley asked Russ, eyeing the covered coffin uncertainly.

  “Lots of dancing,” he replied. “Food and gifts. This is how we honor the deceased.”

  “I didn't bring a gift,” she whispered urgently. “We didn't.”

  Russell turned to face her. “This tradition is different. Father will distribute gifts to the guests.”

  “Oh.” Not sure what else to say, Riley fell back to silent observation. In later years, the images of the day would blend together. She ate moose meat and fry bread and drank what seemed like a gallon of black tea. People chanted and danced, waving sticks adorned with colorful – something she couldn't see clearly, while beating skin drums. The dancing seemed to consist of leaning forward and bobbing, perhaps stomping one foot. Though she was sure she could accomplish the steps, Riley feared committing a faux pas, and Russ assured her it was fine for her to watch. She ended up seated next to a lovely young woman about Riley's age.

  “I wish I could join in the dancing,” the young woman commented, patting her burgeoning belly. “But all the stomping makes me sore.” Rummaging in a skin bag, she brought to light what appeared to be a folded piece of soft leather, which she laid in her lap. Another quick dig revealed a tiny pouch containing what turned out to be colorful beads and a needle. With skillful fingers, she began stringing the beads and attaching them to the leather.

  “I bet,” Riley said. “When are you due?”

  “Any day now,” the woman replied. “And you?”

  Riley blushed. “I'm not sure I'm pregnant yet.” Her fingertips trailed over her own nearly flat belly.

  “You are,” the woman said. “I'm assistant to the midwife. I know that look you have about you. You're glowing. I don't know you though. Are you from another village?”

  Riley shook her head. “I… uh… my boyfriend is from here.”

  The woman's eyebrows drew together. “Who is your man?”

  “Uh… Russell Tadzea.”

  The Den'a woman's puzzled expression broke into a wide grin. “My cousin! I had no idea he'd met someone, he keeps so much to himself. Congratulations. It will be so good for everyone when your child is born.”

  Talking about the child she was far from convinced she was having made Riley feel strange, like eels were swimming in her stomach – or maybe that was the moose meat – but the woman seemed not to notice.

  “He's special, with his… mixed heritage. Not many of that sort. I'm so glad he's found a woman. Welcome to the family.” Then she looked puzzled again. “What was your name?”

  “Riley,” she replied. “Riley Jenkins.”

  “Riley? What a funny name. I'm Nasnanna Tadzea.”

  Riley refrained from commenting that to her Nasnanna sounded much stranger than Riley. When in Rome.

  Chanting, dancing, conversation, food. One hour blended into another until Riley almost felt comfortable at the Potlatch. While she knew she'd never actually be part of it, the people went out of their way to welcome her, once they figured out she was with Russ.

  At night, she slept beside him in a narrow guest bed in his father's home. She stared at the bed and then as Russ, pressed close to the wall to make room for her. The chill in the room cut right through her pajamas and the thick red quilt sure looked inviting, not to mention her own personal mobile radiator.

  “Come on, Riley,” he urged. “It's another big day tomorrow. Get in.”

  She swallowed. “This doesn't seem right.”

  He sighed and grasped her hand, tugging her into the bed beside him. She lay stiff and uncomfortable as he settled into the space, snuggling close to her. He draped his arm over her waist and stroked her belly with his thumb. “Why are you so worried, honey? What doesn't seem right?”

  “I don't know. Everyone knowing our business?” she whispered, not quite able to put her uneasy feelings into words.

  Russell kissed her temple. “It's okay, you know. No one will mind. They know we belong to each other, and they understand the ways of my mother's people.”

  “So in everyone's mind we're married?” Riley demanded, not upset exactly, only tr
ying to grasp an unfamiliar concept.

  “Kind of,” he replied. “I mean, everyone understands we're committed. They know, from so many generations of intermarrying with the bears, that if I say someone is my mate, it's for life. Now, if we decided to have some kind of wedding ceremony someday, no one would worry about that either. I think, in my case, people will just go along with whatever we decide.”

  She pondered the thought. Russell, it appeared, had other plans in mind. His stroking fingers slid upward, trying to cup the fullness of her breast. She stayed his hand with hers. “Now that I won't agree to. I'm sorry, honey. I just can't.”

  A soft, growling whine escaped Russell's throat.

  “Not even if you make bear noises,” she added.

  Russell's muscular body sagged in disappointment. “We'll be here several more days, Riley-girl.”

  “And our cozy, private home is waiting for us when we leave,” she shot back, not budging an inch.

  He sighed. “Women.”

  Riley couldn't help grinning. If that's what quarreling as a couple will be like, we can handle it, even if it doesn't always go my way. Good thing Russ is willing to listen even when he doesn't agree. Then it sank in to her that they'd been intimate every single day since they moved in together, and most days before that. Spending a long, celibate weekend in bed with her lover went from being a necessity to an almost unattainable goal in a single heartbeat. But the thought that Russ' father or brother might think they were… doing it… bothered her too much. So she tried to settle down and sleep, and eventually Russ' warmth and the familiar rhythm of his soft snores lulled her to sleep.

  Chapter 10

  The next day, Russell snagged Riley away from the gathering shortly after lunch, wrapped her in her outerwear and walked her across the village to a small, low structure. Inside, an elderly woman waited. She had a round figure and wore a long, thick button-up sweater. A silver braid hung over her shoulder. Beside her, the young pregnant woman Riley had met sat at a desk, typing on a computer.