Protected by the MC: Bear Shifter Biker Reverse Harem

by Lilly Wilder

  There appears to be no obvious order to them and yet, the mixture of different colored covers and sizes seems to soothe the eye, like some sort of pleasing mess. I’ll just walk over there for a second, to see what’s there and then I’ll head out. Maybe I can find something I like and take it with me. After everything that’s happened, I deserve some compensation. I’ll be happy to take it in the form of a book. But, before I can get out of bed, I realize that there’s something on my head. It’s actually, around it, preventing me from opening my mouth or moving my jaw too much.

  I sit, with my legs down and feet touching the ground. It’s cold and my bare feet miss the warmth of the cover now. I touch my cheek with the tips of my fingers. There is something on my face. Something that’s going around my chin, my ear, over my head. All around. What the Hell is this?

  I rush over to a small mirror on the wall and see that my head and my jaw are wrapped in a bandage. I press my right cheek and a sharp pain cuts right through me. I squeal with my lips tightly pressed together, trying to ease the pain. My memory is still foggy. I remember only cut outs. Slowly, the pain goes away and I can open my eyes properly.

  But, I’m not alone anymore. There is a man in front of me, standing right by the door, preventing me from going out. For a moment, my mind mistakes him for David and I suffocate a scream inside my throat. I take a step back, like a wounded, cornered animal. I remember the girl who jumped, her sweet nameless face and the photo that I never got to see, my mind pregnant with a message I will never give to the recipient. I remember all the fright, all the hopelessness as I look in this man’s eyes.

  He doesn’t move. He notices me staring at him and he stays put, like someone paused him. The look on his face is telling me not to be afraid, but I can’t trust him. I can’t trust anyone here, wherever I am. All I know is that I need to get home. I keep my distance and I watch out for every sudden move.

  “I won’t hurt you,” he tells me softly. His voice is like the pitter-patter of soft, summer rain and I want him to speak more. Still, I don’t move. My instinct is to run, as soon as he moves away from the door. “Can I come in?” he asks.

  I take a step back, feeling the hard, wooden boards of the bookshelf. The place is too small. If he jumps at me, I’ll have nowhere to run to, nowhere to hide. He is twice my size. It won’t be difficult for him to take me out easily.

  “I took off your chains,” he continues and this time, he takes a step forward. The hairs on my back stand on their end as he does so. “No one is keeping you a prisoner.”

  I lift my hands to my face, touching the bandage. I feel a dull pain and it makes me afraid to speak.

  “I don’t know how much you remember, but we saved you from those guys,” he explains. “One of them hit you and by the time we got there, you were unconscious. We brought you back here and I bandaged you.” He gestures at my face with his index finger. “It’s just a minor fracture. You should be fine in two weeks. You can talk, even though it might be slightly unpleasant. Just make sure not to open your mouth wide. Also, you have a cut on the inside of your cheek. That’s why I brought you this,” he shows me a green plant in his hands.

  I notice they are big, with long fingers. I remember how Vanessa told me once that guys with big hands are packing and how we both laughed about it. Without wanting to, I glance at the guy’s mid-section and immediately blush, even though I didn’t really see anything. I turn away, but that redness of the cheeks remains. I can only hope that he didn’t notice me do that.

  “Can I come in now?” he asks again.

  I’m still hesitant. He can tell me anything and I wouldn’t know if he’s lying or telling the truth. But, something in his eyes tells me it’s alright. My heart isn’t beating wildly any longer. I’m not shaking. I’m even contemplating staying here a little longer and just hearing out what this guy has to say. I mean, if he wanted to hurt me, he would have done it by now. At least, that’s what I’m hoping.

  I just nod in reply to his question. He walks in, takes two steps, then stops.

  “Do you want me to leave the door open?” he suddenly inquires.

  We both glance at the door at the same time. Fight or flee? My mind is racing. I’m not sure what I want to do. The road is open. I can just run out the door and keep running until I reach safety. But then, a tiny little voice whispers in the back of my head. What if safety is right here? I look back at this man. I don’t know if he means me any harm. He could smite me with his look alone, let alone by raising his fist to me. But I sense no danger. The books around me whisper that it’s OK to let my guard down a little. The comfort of the bed I was just lying in is in stark contrast to the one I woke up in yesterday. Things have changed. I can feel it. So, I nod gently.

  “I’ll just sit over there, on that chair, OK?” he continues to tell me his every move and I almost smile.

  He does exactly what he said he would, while I’m still standing in the same spot, waiting.

  “Are you hungry?”

  The mention of food awakens my stomach. I just hope he won’t bring me a sandwich.

  “I can get you some warm soup,” he continues, as if reading my mind. “I think I’d even be able to find a straw somewhere, for you.”

  I look at him, as if I’m seeing him for the first time. He’s a bit older than me. His face has a beach tan, but I can’t imagine this guy surfing. His hair is longer, his beard is bushy, but I can see his lips clearly when he’s talking. He’s got a few sun freckles on his nose. I want to ask him something, but I’m not sure if I’m supposed to move my jaw too much. So, I just point at myself, then do the talking motion with the tips of my fingers, hoping he’ll get what I’m asking.

  “Sure,” he chuckled, revealing a set of pearly whites that were in stark contrast with the black bushy beard and his sun-kissed cheeks. “You can talk a little, just try not to move your jaw too much and don’t overdo it.”

  “Where… are… we?” I try, expecting another surge of pain, but all I feel is slight discomfort. I speak slowly, making sure to adhere to his advice about watching my jaw. If he bandaged me up this nicely, he must be a doctor, or at least a medical professional of some sort.

  “That is a good question,” he chuckles again, raking his fingers through his hair. “Although, a little tricky to explain. Besides, it’s not mine to explain it.”

  I shrug my shoulders, in a gesture of wondering. Luckily, he understands.

  “Someone will be with you shortly, to answer all your questions better than I could,” he tells me again.

  I point at him with my index finger, feeling like a kid playing charades. Then, I spread my arms slightly to the side, palms up, hoping he’ll guess that I’m asking him why not him.

  “All I can tell you is that this is my home and I can promise you that no one here will hurt you,” he continues and for some inexplicable reason, I believe him.

  At that point he stands up again and smiles at me. I swear, he is the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen. His black t-shirt is hanging close to his torso which looks chiseled to perfection. His jeans are torn and I see now that he’s wearing black leather boots. I remember the biker gang that arrived shortly after David hit me. So, he’s with the biker gang.

  “Isabel,” I point at myself, feeling a sudden urge to introduce myself to this demi-god.

  “Isabel,” he repeats with a chime of a thousand angelic bells in his voice. “That’s a beautiful name. Not that I expected a less beautiful name for a girl like you.”

  There’s a sweet compliment in this clumsy sentence construction and it makes me smile for the first time in a while. A quick bolt of pain reminds me I’m to remain serious, for my own good. I point at him again and I swear this inability to talk properly is more and more entertaining.

  “Oh, me?” he asks and I have to prevent myself from smiling, which is harder than I thought. “I’m Theron.”

  I raise my eyebrow. It’s a name I’ve never heard o
f before.

  “It’s Greek,” he seems to understand me without me even saying anything and answers the questions I don’t even voice out loud. “It means a hunter.”

  I nod, not because that’s something I agree with, but simply to acknowledge the fact that he was nice enough to explain it.

  “I’ll go get you some soup,” he nods, mirroring my actions. “I’ll put some of this in.” he shows me the green plant in his hand again. I just stare at it for a second, then look at him. “It’s just oregano. It contains carvacrol and thymol, which are two antibacterial and antifungal compounds. They should help the cut inside your mouth heal faster. I’ll just chop some of it up in your soup. You like oregano, right?”

  I nod, suppressing a smile again. Then, I remember that Vanessa has no idea where I am and neither does mom. They must be freaking out, just like I was a few hours ago. I look at Theron and make a telephone sign with my hand, pressing it against my ear.

  “Oh, you want to make a telephone call?” he asks and I just nod again. “Dex will explain everything and he’ll get you a phone so you can call someone.”

  “Thank… you…” I try to say it and it goes smoothly. No pain.

  “You’re very welcome,” he smiles a little shyly and I wonder what are the odds of meeting someone like this, a guy with all the qualities I ever wanted in a man, under these circumstances. Why couldn’t I meet him earlier, somewhere normal? Why did it have to be like this? But I don’t say any of this. I just watch him as he goes out the door and leaves it open for me.

  I see just a little part of the outside world through it. I see the woods. I can even smell it. It welcomes me with open arms, offering me a glimpse into a world that has always been there, around me, but I never had the time to really see what’s going on there. I go back to the bed and sit down on it. I don’t feel the coldness on my feet any longer.

  I try not to smile. I wait, until he finally returns. I eat the soup that Theron brings me. He sits opposite me. Still at a safe distance and I appreciate it silently, as I sip my soup. The oregano is giving it a strange aftertaste, but I believe what he told me. I see a flicker of curiosity dance in his eyes and I’m sure that he is dying to ask me a thousand questions. If circumstances were any different, I’d be happy to answer them all. But nodding is somewhat limiting and pointing my finger, even though fun, can be considered impolite, if done excessively. So, we both sit in silence, sharing untold secrets with our eyes.

  Chapter 8

  Theron

  I watch this girl as she eats the soup in the strangest way imaginable. In all the fights my brothers and I have found ourselves in, I don’t think any of us needed to have our jaw bandaged like this. I can’t even imagine how weird that must be. Surrounded by strangers, unable to talk properly. I don’t envy her.

  Her fingers are still trembling a little and she still has that occasional look in her eye that only prey gets, when it knows that it’s in danger. Even the sound of the wind unsettles her and her eyes never wander away from mine for longer than two, three seconds. I don’t mind. Her eyes are the deepest hue of blue and I realize that her left eye is half brown. Heterochromia. That’s what the condition is called. I’ve never met anyone with it and now, I can’t stop staring.

  Her cheeks are now a little flushed, after I cleaned her face up a little and tended to her wounds. For a moment, I feared she wouldn’t wake up, that she would just wither like a May flower in my hands and I’d never get the chance to find out what her name was.

  Isabel. A biblical name from the Hebrew Elisheva. It means God is my oath. I wonder if she knows that. There is also a deep, velvety red rose bush called Isabel. It has a light fragrance and shiny, dark green foliage. Contrasting images of red and green only add to its beauty. It doesn’t grow anywhere around here, though. The Isabel sitting opposite me is grave, her smile is hidden underneath a layer of foreign material that needs to be on her face for now. As I put it on, I could feel the softness of her skin, the tips of my fingers gliding on the blazing glaciers that could melt everything in its path. I tried to be as quiet as possible while tending to her, but all I wanted was to whisper sweet nothings in her ear. Nothings, because that is exactly what will happen. That is the only thing that can happen. She will open her eyes and go away, disappear, like a mermaid allowed to spend only one single day on land and then, her lovely legs will transform into a fish tail once again and she will dive off into the depths, never to be heard from again.

  She slurps the last remnants of her soup and I can’t help but smile. How sweet she is. How innocent. Of course, they would pick her for… the thought of what could have happened to her fills me with rage. I completely agree with Dex. This can’t go on any longer. Closing your eyes to evil doesn’t mean that you make it go away. It doesn’t even mean that it doesn’t touch you. On the contrary, it means that you’re a passive participant.

  A knock on the doorway brings me back to reality. Both she and I turn around and see Dex there. She doesn’t seem to recognize him and instantly, looks in my direction, searching for assurance that he isn’t an enemy. My heart is filled with a sense of ancient knighthood and for a brief moment, I think I actually glanced around to see where I left my sword. But magic tends to disappear from life, as quickly as it appears.

  “This is Dex,” I tell her. “He’ll tell you exactly what happened.”

  She does that cute gesture with the hand phone and I nod. Of course, she wants to call her family, her friends. Maybe a boyfriend? She looks too young to have a husband, but love knows no age. I’ve already noticed that she isn’t wearing a ring, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. If she was my wife, I’d want to stamp that on my forehead and shout it from the rooftop. Wearing a ring would be nothing compared to that.

  “Yes, he’ll give you a phone, so you can call whoever you want,” I assure her.

  I stand up to go, taking the empty bowl in my hands. Our fingers graze against each other and I can feel how cold they are. I would like to stay here, but I know Dex wouldn’t like it. He always does things his way and if that way isn’t yours as well… that’s usually your problem. Not his. As I turn to go, she grabs me by the elbow. The brown in her eye is even more prominent now, her pupils dilated.

  “It’s fine,” I tell her calmly, pretending not to see Dex’s stare. I know what he’s thinking. He wants me gone, so he can get close to her. But I don’t care. I caress her cheek boldly and to my surprise, she doesn’t pull away. Her eyes are begging me not to go. “I’ll be right back. I just need to take this to the main kitchen.”

  She finally lets go and I pass Dex by the door. He grabs me by the elbow, almost in the same place her fingers rested a moment ago, but the touch isn’t nearly as gentle.

  “How is she?” he asks me and I frown at him.

  “Isabel is fine,” I tell him, accentuating her name. Dex’s gaze widens, processes the information quickly, then just nods in agreement, as if he knew this all along and I was merely confirming it out loud. “It’s not recommended for her to talk too much, so she’s gesturing mostly. If you can’t understand her, just give her a pen and paper, so she can write her questions.”

  I’m turned with my back to her and I’m dying to look at her again. But, I don’t.

  “Is she in pain?” he asks me again.

  “Dex, she’s right over there,” I roll my eyes at him, making sure that she doesn’t see me do it. “Why don’t you ask her yourself?”

  I leave the shack in a brisk step. I know Dex said he wants to talk to her alone and I know why. He would never say it in the same words as me, but it all boils down to the same thing. It’s difficult being brothers sometimes. Especially if your brother is Dex.

  I sigh, hastening my step. Getting back to my shack has never been more important.

  Chapter 9

  Dex

  The girl is sitting in the chair I usually sit in when I’m in Theron’s shack. She looks like… well, shit. Jus
t a thought. Not like I’d ever say it out loud. After what she’s been through, I’d look like a pile of shit, too. I’m sure of that.

  There is only one other chair opposite her and I take it. I see Theron cleaned her up a bit. Her face is now blushing softly, even though her hair is a tangled mess. There is dirt underneath her fingernails. She’s probably dying for a shower. I knew I’d be if I was her.

  “We got a shower in the back,” I tell her. “Theron will get you a towel and you can go use it any time you wish.”

  She shows me her ragged clothes, then shrugs her shoulders.

  “Clothes?” I ask. She nods. “Sure, we can get you some.”

  She doesn’t smile. She probably doesn’t know that I saved her. It doesn’t look like she remembers.

  “You know, I’m the one who…” I start, but she isn’t listening.