Craving His Innocent Mate (Badlands Territory Book 3)

by Frankie Love

  Craving His Innocent Mate

  Badlands Territory, Book 3

  Frankie Love

  Contents

  About

  1. Calder

  2. Cordelia

  3. Calder

  4. Cordelia

  5. Cordelia

  6. Calder

  7. Cordelia

  8. Calder

  9. Cordelia

  10. Calder

  11. Cordelia

  Epilogue 1

  Epilogue 2

  Want More?

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2020 by Frankie Love

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  About

  Craving His Innocent Mate

  By Frankie Love

  After a horrible loss, I moved to the Badlands to start over.

  But one week in this new territory, and tragedy strikes once more.

  This time, when I’m in bear form, I nearly lose my life.

  After being dragged out to sea, I awake in the arms of a woman who is unlike anyone I’ve ever known before.

  She has a melancholy spirit mixed with beauty and grace — and I know she understands pain the same way I do.

  But she is no ordinary woman.

  She is a selkie; born to the sea, and it keeps calling her back.

  Her father rules this stretch of ocean and he has promised her to another man.

  She may be a selkie princess, but she is also my mate.

  And I am claiming what is rightfully mine.

  Dear Reader,

  Forget getting lost at sea — we’re going to drown in this alpha hero’s eyes!

  Calder loves Cordelia more than anything, and his devotion to his princess will sweep you away!

  xo, frankie

  Calder

  I look up to the sky, taking in the heavy rain clouds, gray and dark. It's early afternoon, but this storm has swept in fast, and I'm over five miles from my cabin nestled deep in the Badlands Territory.

  I consider my options. I could find a tall cedar tree and stay put until the storm passes, or walk upstream back home, knowing I'll be soaked through within minutes. I don’t like the idea of sitting under a tree for hours, so I decide to go hunting instead, preferring my bear form when the weather turns like this.

  I shift quickly, moving from the 6'3" build of a man who's lived his life in the woods into a burly grizzly who is fearless of the elements. As I run along the river's edge toward the ocean, my body shifts form. My flannel shirt, blue jeans and leather boots are left behind on the forest floor. And soon, the rain is coming down heavy on my fur.

  I've been a shifter all my life, grew up in Bear Valley, way up North. But after losing my brother Joseph in a car crash earlier this year, I had to leave. He was the only family I had left. And I figured if he was gone, there was no reason to stay. Bear Valley was filled with bad memories, or at least sad ones, ones that made me wish for what I used to have, not for what is.

  When I heard word of a shifter territory called the Badlands, I decided to pack what little possessions I had and head south. I'm happy to be here, in this wild country that's untamed, just like me. It has a similar feel to Bear Valley, but there are more than bear shifters here. There are all sorts of people and creatures from all walks of life. And it helps me fit in more seamlessly. I've only been here a month, and I've kept mostly to myself after purchasing a cabin. My plan is to start a logging business when spring rolls around. But now, we're headed to winter and I’ve decided to keep a low profile and stick to myself. I haven't gotten over losing my brother, and I reckon that until I do, I won't be fit to be anybody's friend.

  I see fish in the river current, and I dive down with a paw, eating an early dinner on the shore of the shallow river. I'm near the ocean, and I feel the air change, the saltwater creeping in. Thunder and lightning strike out on the horizon over the dark, icy waves, and I feel the sea calling to me, but I don't know the song.

  Still, I see a glittering, a flicker of light. And for a moment, I ignore it, thinking it's a figment of my imagination, a long-lost lightning bolt. But then I see long brown hair curled and tangled, the body of a woman, fragile and pale, eyes closed, caught in the current.

  I rush toward the vision, jumping in the water, urging myself to shift before I reach out for this woman who is drowning before me. I never heard her struggle. Didn't hear a cry for help. Maybe she was walking and slipped and fell, alone, lost.

  A deep surge inside of me propels me forward — the beating of my wild heart, telling me that whoever this is, I must protect her.

  Shifting from bear form quickly, I realize how naked I am, out here in the thunderstorm, with the rain beating heavy against me. But that is irrelevant now.

  I must save her.

  But as I reach for the woman, my foot loses hold on the riverbank. And before I can dive in to reach this woman who's making her way to the ocean, my head hits a rock and everything goes dark.

  My eyes are closed. And if I'm calling for help, there’s no way in hell anyone's going to hear me.

  I reach my hand out to this woman who maybe was never here at all.

  A ghost, an idea, a memory that wasn't mine for the taking.

  And though I can't surface to consciousness, as my mind fades to black and my heart seems to stop, I feel the woman’s hands clasp mine.

  Cordelia

  I've seen bears in the Badlands all my life. It’s no surprise when I see the grizzly feasting at the side of the river. The storm swept in quickly, more quickly than I expected, and it makes me wonder if the war Fjord is off fighting is coming to a close.

  My stomach turns as I consider those implications.

  Marriage. Being his wife. A life at sea when I want more than the ocean. I want solid ground.

  I’ve been out foraging for most of the afternoon, collecting herbs and berries and bark for the salves and potions that I sell at my apothecary shop. But the rain came in heavy and hard, and I decided to leave my basket under the boughs of a cedar tree. I shifted in the water so I could get home more quickly. Forget the scenic route through the forest, I can swim downstream in seal form and arrive at my oceanside cottage in minutes.

  But then I see him, this wild bear, untamed in the most unexpected way. Unexpected because I've seen many wild men in these woods in the 21 years that I've been alive. I've seen vamps and foxes, mountain lions and birds of prey, all moving from human to animal with simple movements of their bodies. Shifting shapes before my very eyes. The Badlands are safe for people like us, people like me, but as I stand on the bank of the river, ready to dive into the current and take the shape of a seal, I'm struck by this beast before me.

  He doesn't see me. His eyes look off in the distance as if considering another place, another time, a life that could have been different.

  I blink back tears, thinking the same thing. If only Alessandra were still here with me, still alive, holding my hand, making the world I always saw covered in clouds less gray. She was light and I was dark and now she's gone.

  And I feel like I'm forever looking off into the distance, wishing for everything to be different, wishing for time to rewind. But it can't. No matter how magical the Badlands are, we can't rewrite history.

&nbs
p; This bear, this beast, has a hold on my heart in a way that scares me, in a way that demands my attention. But I can't give into a fantasy about this creature and me. I can’t consider moving forward when my best friend died only one year ago. It doesn't seem fair to keep living when she's not living with me.

  So I look away from this animal who seems like he's staring down a future I wholly understand. Instead I dive into the water, closing my eyes under the surface of the rushing river as it makes its way to the ocean. The familiar sea has forever been my home, not the home where I live — where I work and sleep — no, the home where I was formed, the home where my father still resides. The home I chose to leave but which keeps calling for me.

  My father, who keeps calling for me.

  Under the surface of the water, I prepare myself to shift. As a selkie it doesn't take much to move from one form to the next, but in the moments that I wait for it to happen, I feel a deep and heavy weight plunge into the water near me.

  I blink, my eyes adjusting, my body still human. The bear is gone and in his place is this man. I know he's one and the same because his eyes are familiar.

  But then I see something that startles me, has me crashing to the surface of the water and grabbing for his body.

  Red blood pours from the base of his skull. He's hit the back of his head hard on a rock and he's losing consciousness, or maybe it's already gone.

  I take hold of his hand, looking into his eyes and realizing as the rainwater hurls down on us that I need to get him home to my cottage now before he bleeds out his essence.

  Wrapping my arm around his chest, I plunge deep into the water, changing form into that of a seal. His arms wrap around my torso and I move quickly toward the ocean. I'm scared of what will happen to him if I don't get him out of this water soon, but luckily I know this stretch of sea better than I know anything else in the world.

  Soon I'm helping him onto the shore, shifting back into human form. We are both naked, but he is disoriented and doesn’t seem to realize. His body is bruised, wrapped in seaweed, his hair tangled, his beard unkempt. But I drag him to my cottage. He's able to walk with one arm over my shoulder, but I don’t think he knows what is happening. His brute strength is the only thing propelling one foot in front of the other.

  As we make our way into my home that smells like cinnamon and sandalwood and saltwater, I lay him on my bed, reaching for a rag to press to his head to soak up the blood. He'll need stitches, salve, prayer. I can give him that and more.

  I dress quickly, then cover his groin with a blanket, not wanting my eyes to linger on his body, knowing it wouldn’t be fair. Even though my deep attraction for him is palpable in each movement I make.

  I want this man. This stranger. In a way I’ve never wanted anything before.

  But my duty is to heal him. My throat goes dry as I reach for my medicine kit and my medical supplies. I take out black thread, quickly threading a needle, knowing whoever this man is, bear or human or otherwise, he is here for a reason — a reason beyond me. Beyond us. Because when I saw him as a grizzly on the edge of the river, it's like my soul knew what my mind didn't.

  That he is mine and I am his.

  I blink back tears, not understanding where they even came from. Thoughts race through my mind. I miss Alessandra. I want to fix this man. I hate myself for pushing through the past in this moment, longing for a future. There is an ache deep in my chest that I don't understand, that I wish made sense.

  Who is this man?

  "You're real," he whispers, his voice tight, tense. "You're not a ghost."

  I move beside him on the bed, taking his hand in mine. "No, I'm not a ghost. I'm real."

  "Help me," he pants.

  I lick my lips, grabbing alcohol to clean his cut, knowing it's going to burn.

  But knowing also that pain isn't the worst thing to feel. It’s worse to feel nothing at all.

  Calder

  It's dark, pitch dark. And I blink, my eyes adjusting as the moonlight filters in through a window. Candles are lit on a table and I move, wanting to sit up.

  But I must attempt it too quickly because I immediately groan, a throbbing pain in the base of my skull. All my muscles are sore. "No, don't get up," a woman says, and my attention turns toward the sound of the voice, soft and sweet, wrapping around my heart like a salve I knew I needed, but just how badly, I wasn't sure until now.

  She moves close, a gray shawl around her body, a linen nightgown touching her toes. Her hair, dark and curly, is tangled in a long braid over her shoulder, hanging past her breast.

  She licks her lips and I take in her beauty through the candlelight. I swallow hard, my body tense, unnerved. It's her, the ghost, the girl who was drowning, whose body was under the surface of the water, who I almost died for without even knowing her name.

  But now she's here, reaching toward me, cupping my cheek and easing my head back down on a pillow stuffed with feathers. "Shh," she tells me. "Lie down," she says again. “You'll get dizzy if you stand up too fast."

  "Who are you?" I ask.

  She smiles softly, not showing her teeth. "I'm Cordelia," she tells me. "I found you in the river. You were hurt. You would have drowned."

  I frown. "No," I say, taking her hand in mind, refusing to let go. She might think I'm holding onto her because I'm out of sorts, but that's not it. I'm holding onto her because I can't let go. "No, you got it wrong," I say. "You were the one drowning under the surface of the water. I saw you. I reached for you and slipped.”

  "Ah," she says slowly. "I was in the water, but it's not what you think. I wasn't drowning, I was…" she pauses, "swimming, or about to."

  "You go swimming in the middle of a rainstorm?” I ask her. "Doesn't make much sense.” Her story doesn't quite add up and I watch as her eyes fall. I see the way they linger on the muscles of my body, my chiseled chest, my strong arms, my biceps, ripped, the ladder of my abs. I'm naked.

  And suddenly I feel very naked.

  My cock twitches as I look at her. I'm covered by a blanket, a thick quilt that seems stitched together with love, maybe stitched together by her, Cordelia.

  “Do you have any clothing for a man?” I ask.

  She nods, handing me a pair of cotton pants. I ease them on, slowly. "How did I get here?” I ask. I press my hand to my head; it's wrapped in a bandage and as I begin to take my body in, I realize there are cuts all along my arms and my face.

  "I helped you home," she says simply.

  "Am I supposed to believe that?” I ask.

  She shrugs. "What do you want me to say?” she asks. “I found you and brought you home.”

  "And this," I ask, "this is your home?" I can see the tiny cottage more clearly now. The rafters, the loft, the hand-hewn table in the center of the room, covered with candles and bottles and jars. Herbs and garlic are tied to beams that run along the roof line. The small kitchen is tidy and inviting. And then this bed in the corner on the right.

  Through the windows I see the ocean; her home is nestled right against the sea. It makes no sense how she got me here. She's a slight woman. Strong maybe, but small, not even five foot three.

  "I had some help getting you here," she says, as if it explains everything.

  I'm too tired to press, to ask more questions, try and find answers. She doesn't seem very forthright and I don't have the energy to push on.

  "You need your rest," she says. She stands from the bed, walks over to her large table and picks up a bottle, unscrewing the cap. With a stainless steel spoon in hand, she walks toward me. She pours out a dosage and tells me to take it. "It will help you sleep," she says. "It will keep those nightmares at bay."

  I frown. "You know of my nightmares? How do you get inside my head?"

  "I heard you," she says softly, her fingers running along my brow line. "I heard you call out for Joseph.”

  I clench my jaw, swallowing the syrup. It's sweet like honey. Bitter, too. Before I can push back, tell her she must have heard wrong
even though I know full well she didn't, my eyes close.

  And no matter what I do, I can't keep them open. I fall asleep, wanting to wake, wanting her hand to wrap around mine, wanting her finger to brush against my brow, wanting her lips to press against mine.

  I dream of that, her touch. The nightmare fades. My brother fades from my mind as a dream overtakes me, where I'm not battling my demons for once, and instead I'm in the ocean swimming with a seal, wild and free.

  Cordelia

  He tossed and turned for hours. So when he woke, looking around my cottage, reaching for me, I gave him my hand. He asked for clothing and I gave him a pair of oversized cotton pants I had deep in my closet.

  He slipped them on, then took the elixir and fell back asleep. And for that, I'm grateful. He needs his rest. In the morning, when he wakes, he will feel restored. I hope so, at least. I vow to keep watch over him all night — the last thing I want is for him to feel any pain. My heart is telling me it is my duty to keep him safe.

  In the early morning hours, when the sun hasn't yet decided to rise, and when the entire world is silent and still — the birds sleeping, the owls sleeping, the creatures in the sea sleeping too — my body betrays me. My eyelids are heavy and my body craves sleep. I want to stay up all night, to be on watch in case he finds himself in pain, but he's resting so silently. His eyes closed, his thick beard moving up and down with each slow and steady breath.

  There's only one place to rest in my cottage. The bed. The hard wooden chairs at the table won't give me any comfort. And right now, that's what I long for. Rest. It's been a long day for me too, a long year. Looking at the ample space in the bed where Calder sleeps, and knowing that it's half empty, I climb in next to him. Careful not to touch him, not to move too close.