by Eve Langlais
He followed the smells around, nose sometimes pressed to the floor, other times held high in the air. He snuffled at cushions on the floor and stuck his nose in crevices. The picture that emerged proved interesting, and it wasn’t long before he knew where Becka could be found.
Hold on, sweetheart. I’m coming for you. He just hoped he wasn’t too late.
CHAPTER 9
“Where is she?” The bellow came a moment before the door swung open.
Amid much snickering—not by Becka, who was still in a stunned state—Stavros stormed into his mother’s house, his brows pulled taut, his usual genial smile missing. The open floor plan of the main level meant Becka saw him quite clearly. There weren’t many places to hide, but given he seemed quite angry, she kind of wanted to duck out of sight, especially when his gaze lighted on her. The anger partially faded as gentle concern filled his eyes. “Thank God, you’re here. You’re not hurt, are you?”
“No. Your sisters were very gentle when they came to dress me and then take me back to your mother’s house.”
“Dress you…” His gaze took in her appearance, lingering at her waist. In a blink, the last of his anger melted into incredulity, then mirth. “Are you wearing an apron?”
Wiping her flour-dusted hands on it, Becka couldn’t help a sheepish shrug. “They kind of insisted.” She thought it best not to argue. His family was kind of bold and bossy. Besides, the way they’d kind of taken her under their wing made her feel warm and mushy inside. She’d never had much female or motherly influence growing up, her mother having died at a young age, so young she didn’t remember her.
“It’s cute.” He looked as surprised as she felt at the compliment.
She managed to hide her pleasure as his mother bustled around the island and headed toward Stavros, brandishing her rolling pin. “Is this how I raised you? To come barging into the house like an ill-bred country bear?”
I’m pretty sure the expression is “bumpkin.” But Becka thought it endearing the way Stavros’s Greek mother mixed things up. Callings kids cubs, likening her husband to a big old grizzly.
But she liked the woman, who insisted Becka call her Momma Lulu. Momma Lulu was apparently delighted to meet Stavros’s lady friend—and no amount of protesting by Becka would sway her from calling her that. As a matter of fact, the more Becka defended his actions and played down what he’d done, the more his mother beamed. It also resulted in Becka being treated to album after album of Stavros growing up.
Such a happy family with so many memories. It made her wistful because, while she’d had some special moments with her poppa, all those pictures were gone. Burned to the ground in the fire he set to hide her disappearance. For all intents and purposes, Becka was dead to the world.
The conversation between Stavros and his mother heated as she waved around her kitchen weapon of choice. “What do you mean the girls left your place a mess?”
“My apartment looks like someone had a temper tantrum.”
“Wasn’t me,” said Cyrena, another of Stavros’s sisters. “Place was immaculate when we left. Alayla even made your bed and emptied your garbage cans.”
“I don’t suppose any of you wear cheap athletic deodorant?”
“Did someone wreck your place?” Becka caught on to what he was asking and felt all the animation and pleasure washing out of her.
He had found her. Or at least found Stavros’s place. Which meant they might not be far behind. They are probably on their way here. Right now. Oh God.
Instant panic suffused her. Her fingers fumbled at the knot behind her back as she tried to remove the apron. “I should leave. Now. I never should have come. I’m so sorry.” She heard herself blabbing as agitation made her clumsy and the knot refused to release. On the contrary, the stubborn thing drew tighter, and she could have sobbed in frustration.
Big, brawny arms came around her, trapping her. Trapping me! For a moment she panicked, drawn back into her nightmare. Becka pushed at Stavros and hyperventilated. “Let me go. Let me go. Let me go.”
But he wouldn’t move away, just hugged her tighter, murmuring against her ear.
“Shhh. Calm down, sweetheart; no one’s leaving, and only a moron would show up here.”
“Should I call James?” Persephone lifted her head from her phone long enough to ask. “He’s home right now working on the back patio, but I’m sure he’d rather be here slapping around some thugs.”
“Ooh, maybe I should call Pietro too. He’s been harping about how he needs more boy time since the twins were born,” Cyrena added.
“Will it make you feel better if a couple of the boys come over?” he asked.
“No.” Because that was more people who might get hurt on her account.
She went limp in Stavros’s grasp, and his hold relaxed, enough that she dropped low and scooted out of his embrace. Her bolt to the door proved short-lived, as he plucked her midstride. “Excuse us. I’m going to take Becka out to the swing for a chat,” he announced over his shoulder as he carted her out the door.
Becka remained behaved and silent until they hit the outside porch and the front door closed. “Put me down. Right now. And don’t you dare stop me from leaving.”
“Or?”
“What do you mean ‘or’? You can’t keep me prisoner. I have a right to leave. And if you don’t let me, I’ll—I’ll call the cops on you.”
“Okay.” He handed her his phone and stood back, leaning his bulky frame against the house. “Go ahead. It’s on speed dial.”
She growled. “Stop treating this situation like a joke. This isn’t funny.”
“No, it’s not. Which is why I’m not laughing.”
“Not laughing and yet you’re keeping me here. You’re putting your whole family in danger. He knows I’m with you.”
“We don’t know that for sure.”
“You said it yourself. Someone trashed your place.”
“Could have been anyone.”
She glared at him as she crossed her arms. “Now who’s lying?”
A big shoulder lifted and dropped. “Fine. It was probably someone looking for you. But upside, he didn’t find you. And all that shit can be replaced. You can’t. Which means I’m going to have to thank my sisters for grabbing you or else you would have been there alone when they came. They’ll never let me live it down.” He looked so pained at the thought.
“Don’t you see now why I have to go? Look at what he did to your place. He will stop at nothing to find me.”
“By ‘he,’ I am assuming you mean Count Dracula?”
Her mouth rounded. “You know of Vladimir?”
“You mean that’s really his name?” Stavros grimaced. “And let me guess, he’s a vampire, hence the wounds on your arms.” At her continued shocked expression, his own changed. “Holy fuck, sweetheart. I was joking. Vampires don’t exist.”
“If you say so. Real vampires might not exist, but sometimes all it takes is belief.”
At that admission, his eyes widened. “Holy fuck. Are you telling me he truly thinks he’s a vampire? And let me guess, he’s been using you for a buffet dinner.” His face twisted. “That sick fucktard. I’m going to rip off his dick and force-feed it to him.”
A lovely sentiment. “There will be no ripping because you’re not going to meet him.”
“Oh yes I am.” Said with such menacing promise. It flustered and aroused, by nature, with its pure machismo. But it was also a very dangerous sentiment.
“You can’t go after him. You don’t understand the resources he has access to. The men he’s got working for him are rough. Real rough and not afraid to hurt people.”
“I can hurt people too.” His grin was back to being too open and wide.
“What will it take to make you go away? I don’t want to see you hurt.”
“I’m not leaving, sweetheart, and on the off chance I get a boo-boo you could always kiss it better.”
“You are the most frustrating man.”
He pus
hed away from the wall and loomed over her, but forget fear. Having him that close only served to fan the flames within her. All of her tingled, the anticipation of his touch almost too much to bear.
“I’m frustrating?” He chuckled softly and leaned down to brush his mouth ever so lightly against hers. “You’re not the one whose balls hurt with wanting.”
Did he imply … surely not? “I’m not doing it on purpose.”
“I know. But that doesn’t stop me from wanting you.”
Wanting me? She gaped at him, flustered and hot at the same time. The situation was utterly impossible. The only thing she knew was she should get away from him as far and as fast as she could. Instead, she did something impulsive. She grabbed him by the cheeks and pulled him to her, meshing her mouth to his.
If she surprised him, he didn’t show it, quickly pulling her to him and keeping his mouth pressed to hers, their breaths comingling. She fitted against him perfectly and, in his arms, felt such a measure of peace, but that peace didn’t mean she didn’t also feel extreme arousal.
Stavros only had to touch her to ignite her. A single kiss had her ready to do things, things that involved more touching. More kissing. More … everything.
I can’t. Not right now. Not with everything still happening. She pulled away and tried to catch her breath.
“We shouldn’t be doing this.”
“Actually, we should be doing more of this, but if we get too frisky on the porch my mother is liable to come at us with the hose.”
“Your family is very interesting.”
“You don’t know the half of it. And you’re one to talk, escaping a guy who tried to make you think he was a vampire.”
“Not just think, he is,” she replied.
For some reason, that caused Stavros to recoil. “Wait, what? Hold on a second. Don’t tell me you think he’s a vampire too.”
“Not think, know. You seem to forget I lived it.” She held out her arm and showed the fading punctures, the skin no longer so mottled, but the scars would take longer to heal.
“Sweetheart.” Said softly as his hands cupped her cheeks. His gaze caught and held hers. “Despite what he wants you to think, vampires aren’t real. He’s a sick cumwad who needs his ass kicked a few times before I end his miserable life.”
“I don’t think ‘cumwad’ is a word.” Probably the stupidest thing she’d ever said yet the only thing she could say at his vehement exclamation. He was truly angry about her treatment and determined to avenge her. It was oddly sexy.
“Says the girl who believes in vampires.”
“There are things out there that exist that you wouldn’t believe.” More than a few rumors abounded, and she’d been privy to them in Vlad’s care. Shit. She’d thought his name. She peered around and hugged herself. The brightness of the afternoon didn’t chase the chill.
“Actually, sweetheart, I do believe because I’m one of those secrets.”
The odd reply drew her attention to him. “What do you mean?”
“I mean I’m not really human. I guess, since you believe in vampires, this is going to be easier than expected. I am a bear,” he said, and then fixed her with an expectant stare.
“Bear what?”
“A bear shifter.”
She shook her head.
“As in I change into a bear. Rawr.” He lifted his arms for emphasis.
A snicker came from her. “Oh please. If you were going to screw with me, you could have at least used ‘wolf.’ Werewolves at least are on par with vampires.”
“No, really, I am a bear shifter. A werebear if you will.”
“And I’m a genie princess.”
“Can I see you in the belly outfit?”
A frown pulled at her brows. “No, you cannot, because I’m screwing with you like you’re screwing with me.”
“Except I’m not fucking with you and I can prove it.”
Sure he could. And to think she’d thought him normal. She should have known there was something wrong with him. He was just too perfect otherwise. “Then prove it.” She leaned back against the railing and crossed her arms. “Let’s see this badass bear of yours.”
“Who told you it was badass?” He winked. “Just kidding. He totally is.”
“Then stop yapping and show me. I’m waiting,” she sang as she tapped her foot.
“Not out here. People aren’t supposed to know.”
“Of course they’re not. Because people don’t change into bears.”
“Boy, are you going to feel silly when I show you. Come on.” He dragged her inside but didn’t stop at the main floor, just said “Gonna show her my bear” to the curious gazes tossed their way.
He took her by the hand to a set of stairs leading down to a finished basement, the main family room area large and open.
“You can stop screwing with me. This isn’t funny. And we’re wasting time. I should be putting distance between me and your family.”
“You’re not going anywhere. And in about two minutes, you’re going to be utterly amazed. Or grossed out. But I’m hoping for amazed. Do you want me to do this in front of you, or change in another room?”
“Is that where you keep the costume?”
A smile curved Stavros’s lips. “No costume. Just so you know, we like to be rubbed behind the ears. Don’t be afraid to give the fur a good hard scrub. Ready, sweetheart?”
“Go.” She clapped her hands, and as if that were a signal, his shirt came off. Oh my. The top half of him was ogle worthy, his body thick through the chest, with muscle, not fat. But also furry too. But that didn’t make him a bear.
His hands went to the waistband of his pants, and he unbuttoned.
“What are you doing?”
“Unlike cartoon bears, I don’t wear clothes. And shifting in them is really hard on the wardrobe. When possible, I strip first.” His hands began to shove the pants down, and she closed her eyes.
He really was taking the fantasy all the way. Really, though, a bear? He couldn’t have chosen something believable?
There were a series of odd noises, kind of cracking and popping yet at the same time fluid. It made no sense, but she didn’t look. Looking meant seeing a naked Stavros. A lovely sight surely, but a distracting one.
Speaking of which, dammit, he’d talked her out of leaving. For the moment. Once he was done messing with her, she planned to march back outside and—
What the fuck just licked my hand?
Her eyes shot open and opened even wider when she screamed, “You’re a fucking bear!”
CHAPTER 10
Okay, so maybe she wasn’t quite ready.
Still, the girl admitted to believing in vampires. Why was his shifter side such a shock? The logic didn’t matter; his chagrin at making her faint did. At least he caught her before she hit the floor. And another bonus, she didn’t die of a heart attack. But just in case, he switched back.
The fugue state didn’t last long. She regained consciousness slowly, her eyes blinking, each opening of her eyelids a chance for her to gaze at him quizzically. Better than the blood-curdling scream of before.
He’d heard plenty of laughter after that upstairs. No way would his mother and sisters keep it to themselves. Soon, everyone in the family would know he’d made Becka scream.
Everyone will know I am the bear. The biggest and baddest.
Her lips parted, and she wet them with the tip of her pink tongue. “You’re … I mean you were a bear.”
“Still am inside.”
“And you can change like that anytime?”
He shifted her in his lap, pleased she didn’t try to escape, even though he was quite naked. Then again, she was still addled by his revelation. “I can shift within reason. Too many times in quick succession will drain me.”
“Don’t you need a full moon?”
He shook his head. “Nope. Although the urge to go swap into my furry skin is stronger during that time.”
“I fainted.”
“I didn’t get a chance to rub your ears.”
“You can give me twice the scratch next time.”
“Next time?” Her brow furrowed. “How is it that you can change into a bear, but you don’t believe in vampires?”
“Because they don’t exist. Don’t you think I’d have noticed if there were vampires running around?”
“They don’t run around. There actually aren’t very many. Something about it being very hard to find the right type of person who can handle the vampire sequence. Or so he said.” She shivered.
His turn to frown. How dare she fear that woman-beating coward? “From now on, when referencing your ex-vampire, use the term ‘fucktard.’”
“That seems rather vulgar.”
“Yes, it does.”
Her lips split into a grin. “Fucktard.” The foul word came out hesitantly the first time. “Fucktard. Fu-ck-tard.” She drew the word out and smiled. He would have killed anything for her in that moment.
“Yes, he’s a fucktard, and a coward. And, most of all, a fraud.”
“A fraud with money.” Her gaze dropped, and she stared at something under his chin. “It’s amazing what throwing around some dollars lets some people get away with.”
“You mean like the fact he thought his money gave him the right to take you? No one, not even the richest prick in the world, has the right to hold another person hostage. But why? Why you? What did he need you for? What makes you so special?” Other than the most obvious thing. She was fucking amazing.
“Apparently, I have a rare blood type.”
“How rare?”
“As in rare enough to kill for. He”—at her inflection, Stavros poked at her ribs. She corrected it to—“Fucktard apparently got wind of my rarity after I gave blood during a drive for it at my work. He’s got some mole working the blood banks just to keep an eye out for my plasma type.”
“So he targeted you?”
“Yes. He found out where I lived and worked. He tried pretending an interest in me at first, but I wouldn’t go out with him. So he kidnapped me.”
“How long ago?”
“A month. For the first week or so, I kept expecting someone to find me. He told me to behave or he’d take my grandfather too.”