by V. Vaughn
“What’s your name, male?” She tossed the question over her shoulder, not even pausing for breath. She could run for miles if need be.
“Chance Hawthorne,” he grunted.
She sped up her pace a little when she realized he was a little too close for comfort. The air at her back quivered, as though he’d made a swipe for her.
Laughing, she reached deep inside of herself, tapping into an unknown reservoir of speed she hadn’t known she possessed.
Her sisters had told her the mating season would bring all sorts of fun and interesting surprises for her, and boy, they’d been right.
The ground beneath her feet was wet and spongy like moss from all the rain. Mud splattered up the backs and fronts of her legs, but she didn’t care. She’d never felt more alive.
“Chance. Chance. Chance,” she trilled. “Tell me, Chance, why did you throw that bit of wood at me?” She ducked beneath a low, overhanging branch and laughed when she heard a hard smack and then Chance spluttering angrily. Clearly, the big, cumbersome oaf hadn’t had time to stop before running into it.
Entering a clearing, Bronwyn sailed through it as though she flew on the currents above. Her amber hair whipped behind her like a banner, surely a temptation for him.
With a happy smile on her face, she spread her arms wide and imagined she really was flying. Legend called many of the Breed fae-born. No doubt, she appeared like some crazy sprite in mid-flight.
Glancing back over her shoulder with a coy grin, she slowed her pace a little when she noted Chance had lagged behind a few paces. Unlike her, bears weren’t known for their stamina.
Even though he breathed heavily and sweat ran in rivulets down his chest and neck, he was still the most gorgeous male she’d ever seen.
“I thought you were a stupid bird,” he grunted.
Points for not lying at least. Still…
“I am just a stupid bird,” she said with a sharp nip to her words.
He shook his head, wearing a look of utter concentration on his face. She knew he had to be getting tired.
But she’d figured out one thing—why he’d chased her. If he’d just been a bear on the hunt for food, he would have quit by then. She’d taken him at least three miles deep, if not more, but there was no pause in him.
And the breeze carried an amazing, irresistible scent of bergamot and heady, midnight spices. Her favorite smells in the world. That could only mean one thing. He was on the mating hunt. How very interesting.
“I should rip your eyes out and feed them to my sisters,” she said with a giggle, running just a tad bit faster, forcing him to keep up or back off.
Snorting—such a bearish trait—he pumped his arms harder. This bear meant business.
“I didn’t mean it, Crazy.”
She snickered at his unrepentant comeback. Chance was certainly no pansy. If he’d dithered and stuttered, giving her false praise just to get in her pants—or lack thereof—she would have lost interest. But he was fun. And she liked fun.
In another mile or so, they would reach a riverbed, which was normally dry, but after all the rain, no doubt it would be a rushing tide. They would be on crow territory then, and he would be unable to follow her inside without the prior approval of the grand dame Annilida. The prestigious woman also happened to be her sire—mother in human speech.
She would have a choice to make—hop the river and make it safely across, or…
“Tell me, Chance, what is your favorite color?”
She smelled the rush of running water up ahead and caught a flash of silver from the sunlight, dappling and dancing over the raging rapids. She looked back over her shoulder. Everything depended on what he said now.
“Huh?” His face twisted into a scowl, and he stumbled. It was so oddly adorable that her own pace slowed. He was such a giant of a man with a big beautiful chest, tight, tight abs, and that dark, sun-tanned flesh.
Gods, he was nummy num. Eye candy, really. Or bird food. Whatever she wanted to call it, that’s what he was for her. He was like crack on two legs.
“Color, bear, what is it?” She lifted a brow, slowing her speed significantly. He would believe he stood a chance, but if he failed to answer her correctly, he was so going to lose.
His arms came out, his body crouching into a maneuver in which he could jump and trap her down beneath him. She tensed, waiting to hear the words, her body quivering as the change began to rush upon her.
“Red. I love red.”
Right answer.
She smiled.
He jumped, and she let him catch her.
3
Chance
Just before jumping, he looked at her, really looked at her. He looked at the sensual curves of her lush body, and at the play of sunlight dancing across her burnished hair that fell in soft waves around her shoulders.
Her face was part avian part Greek goddess, and all feminine sensuality. She had a gently rounded chin, a sharp yet delicately pointed nose, cupid-shaped lips, slashing cheekbones, and inky black, almond-shaped eyes.
The bird wasn’t as busty as he normally preferred his women, her breasts a little smaller than what he typically liked. Yet on her, the perfectly shaped, pearlescent orbs had bounced alluringly as she’d kept her pace timed so she was precisely an arm’s length ahead of him. She had granted him the perfect view, aware that she moved in a way that displayed her body to its maximum potential.
She had long, shapely legs that looked as if they went on for miles. Her strong, milky white arms didn’t have the slightest of spots or blemishes on them. In fact, none of her was freckled.
She was porcelain fine, looking as though she’d been crafted by the hands of a master and breathed to life by some ancient god of yore.
When she’d stopped running, so had he. He could no more control himself than the sun could resist rising each morning, as if he was tethered to her in some way, from some instinctual place deep inside of him. He already felt his breaths beginning to time themselves to the rise and fall of her chest and felt the powerful surge of blood rush through his veins. Power—raw, primitive, and ancient—came to life inside of him. The slumbering grizzly had risen from his long hibernation. Colors, once dull and muted, now sparkled every shade of brilliance. Something inside of his brain clicked, and he stopped thinking completely.
She’d turned to him, unfathomable dark eyes as deep as the darkest ocean had gazed on him with challenge burning bright in them. Come take me, she said, and he had no choice but to obey.
Chance launched himself at her.
If she tried to run, he’d chase her down again, and again, and again. He would always find her no matter where she went because her scent was deep inside of him now. Wildflowers and sweet almond—that smell of woman, his woman, had driven like a spear through his brain. Her scent obliterated all reason, common sense, and even his survival instinct.
Nothing mattered to him at that moment but having her.
Tempting. Alluring. Seductive. She was all that and more.
Then Chance was on her, rolling her down to the ground with him, holding her tightly to his strong chest, shielding her from the impact of the fall. He barely even felt the scrape and cuts from the stones gouging into his back.
She was on him, her legs twined with his. Her palms flattened, and her fingers splayed wide across his bare chest. His heart was a hammer, beating inside him—boom, boom, boom—and the music was hers alone. Forever hers…
She laughed, the sound as bright and clear as a pretty spring day. And he kissed her. She tasted of sunshine and sweet berries. Her little tongue darted between his lips. Her touch was as manic as his.
The air grew redolent with the smell of flowers and her need. The crow was in season.
He growled beneath his breath, sliding his palm down her spine slowly, sensually. His touch was meant to incite her to a riot of want and need, stopping only when he reached the gentle dip where her back met buttocks.
She squirmed, and the
cutest trilling sound slipped from between her luscious lips—a bird song, in human form. He’d never heard such a thing. But his woman was singing for him. Her song was so beautiful and tender that it was all he could do not to lose himself in the cadence and rhythm of it.
His woman—what was her name?
“What is your name, siren?” he half-moaned. Her hand slid between their flushed, excited bodies, and she delicately scraped at the tip of his excruciatingly hard length.
She smiled, exposing beautiful white teeth. In an instant, he noted that the very middle tooth on her bottom was slightly crooked, overlapping her other tooth just a little. But even that was adorable.
If he’d been able to think just a little, he might have questioned his sudden “everything was just so cute” train of thought, but Chance was firmly gripped by the instinct to mate and claim. He was as brainless as a one-celled organism at that point.
She was cute. And he wanted to stick his cock in her. That was pretty much the extent of what he was capable of thinking at the moment.
“Wouldn’t you love to know?” She nuzzled his nose, then in a move he had not expected, she clenched her thighs and rolled him on top of her.
He sat flush between her pretty, and very naked thighs. He couldn’t help himself. He had to look down. Then he gasped like a virgin stumbling into the girls’ locker room. His woman was shaved. Bald, wet, and…
“Gods, you’re cute,” he mumbled, then dipped a finger between her slick folds. He hissed as his entire body shook from the overwhelming sensations running rampant through him.
It took a second for his brain to process what he’d just said. Had he really just called her vagina cute?
His woman laughed, tossing her arms out wide as her cute little breasts bobbed enticingly.
“Okay. I don’t think I’ve ever been called that before. Now listen up, grizzly. I don’t need to be wooed, given flowers, chocolates, or anything like that,” she said in a deep husky voice that caused him to look up, momentarily distracted from the pretty jewel gleaming wetly for him. “All I want is for you to take that delicious-looking, hard cock of yours and slide it deep inside of me. Think you can do that, big boy?” She squeezed his biceps gently.
He couldn’t help but flex in return for her, stupidly delighted when laughter danced through her fathomless eyes. He nodded. “I think I can.”
“Good.” She used her nails this time and scratched at his biceps, hard enough to make him wince and hiss, but not with pain. Dear gods, not with pain.
A growl of hunger tore through his chest, dropped off his tongue, and he attacked her lips with his own, ravishing her, devouring her. He used his tongue, his mouth, and even his teeth.
Bears mated violently for the first time, almost brutally. They rarely went outside of their own kind because of the ferocity of the joining. Few shifters could handle what they gave.
But his woman could.
She was a fierce warrior, scratching, nipping, and clawing. Wrapping those mile-long legs around his middle and locking them at the ankles, she gave him the kind of come-hither stare he’d only ever dreamed of seeing in a woman’s eyes.
Chance couldn’t think anymore. He sank his cock deep inside her slick heat, clenching his back molars hard at the way she gloved him.
“Gods,” she hissed, trembling in his arms.
Pride surged through his bones. With the strength of the bear rolling through him, Chance somehow found himself back on his feet with her still locked tightly to him. He didn’t think about what he was doing. The only thought in his head was to claim her forever.
He walked them toward the trunk of a tree that’d had its bark rubbed bald from years of bears scratching themselves on it. Then he slammed her up against it.
She laughed, banding her arms so tightly around his neck that he could hardly breathe. But who needed breath anyway? Breathing was highly overrated during such a time.
Grunting, he widened his legs, clamped one hand to the base of the massive tree, and held her tightly with the other. Then Chance moved his hips, dancing deep inside of her, thrusting with animalistic intent to dominate and own.
But his woman was no silent participant. Her teeth marked up his shoulder. She would clamp down, bite almost brutally, and just when he felt as though he couldn’t tolerate the pain anymore, her tongue would come out to soothe him.
Sweat coated their bodies as the woods came alive with the sounds of their mating.
Soon, her breathy whimpers turned into lusty moans, then a bird-like trill that made his skin pebble with goose flesh.
“You’re so… you’re so…” he trailed off, lost for words.
She looked up at him, her breathing seesawing in and out of her lungs as the corners of her lips tipped up in a half-smirk. “Cute?”
He almost chuckled, but then she did something with her hips. She swiveled down on his cock in such a way that it felt as if she was trying to pull him in completely into her body.
Darkness descended over his vision, pain and bliss coiled tightly through his balls, then his seed exploded deep inside of her.
She screamed, her sharp black nails gouging deeply into his biceps. He felt them cut through his flesh, felt the warmth of blood slide slowly down. But he didn’t care. Nothing mattered except the waves of ecstasy still rolling through him.
When he could finally make sense of the world around him once more, he opened his eyes, staring at her as she stared back at him.
Sweaty strands of hair clung to the side of her face and shoulders. A crooked smile tipped her lips. “That was—”
“Epic,” he finished with a heavy gulp for air.
She nodded, swatting hair out of her eyes. She probably wasn’t aware that she was still slowly rocking on him as though she was trying to squeeze the very last drops of pleasure out of him. He didn’t mind.
He had more plans for her. He wanted to lie her down on the forest floor and feast from between her thighs, then spread his legs and let her return the favor, and—
“Yeah, so that was fun. Thanks, grizzly.” She patted his cheek like one would to a naughty five-year-old, then unhooked her legs, wiggled her hips until his lax girth slipped out of her, and squeezed out from beneath him.
His eyes widened. “Wha—”
Again, she smiled. And again, he found it more radiant than sunshine. Stretching her arms high above her head, she flexed her spine, stood on tiptoe, looking as though she gave obsequiousness to the sky above, then gave him a cocky bow. “I hope you didn’t expect one decent lay to get me all twitter-patted over you, grizzly. Did you?”
“Decent lay?” His face screwed up into a confused scowl. His brain still wasn’t working right. Surely, he was hearing wrong.
She snorted. “Oh you did, I see. How tragic. Well, my darling, it’s been fun and all, but I do think it’s time to run along and go on about your day.” She waggled her long fingers then winked at him.
And he knew what she was about to do. He felt the gathering coil of magick whispering on the wind. The high he’d experienced just moments before was gradually fading into confused surprise.
“So what you’re saying is…” he said slowly, trying to gather his muddled thoughts.
Planting her hands on her hips, she grinned. “Grizzly, in my world, sex means absolutely nothing. You see, we crows don’t bond for life. We merely slack our lust and carry on. I’m afraid a little bit of twig and berries isn’t enough to change a million years worth of instinct. Though I did have fun, if that’s any consolation to you.”
Then she walked over to him, cupped his cheek, and kissed his lips with the type of gentle warmth she hadn’t demonstrated during their rutting. The magick he’d sensed building in the breeze suddenly flared to life. But instead of the gorgeous woman who’d just rocked his world, in front of him flew the bird.
A bird he’d once thought vermin, he could now see as nothing other than beautiful.
With a sharp cry, she twirled and flew into
the sky, disappearing from sight just moments later.
And he stood like an idiot in the meadow, watching her go, with a raging hard-on for the first woman to have ever walked away from him.
4
Bronwyn
Bronwyn hopped off her branch, staring moodily off into the distance as she strained to hear the growls of the angry grizzly off in the distance.
Two weeks had passed since that night. She rubbed her stomach idly, staring at the beautifully crafted walls of her home, which had been built by fae magick. Crow shifters lived in immaculate houses carved inside of mighty redwood trees. She gripped the polished banister of her outdoor balcony and frowned at the blue sky.
The day was sunny and beautiful with nary a cloud to mar it. And she hated it. She scowled. Until further notice, she was grounded from flying, her wings temporarily clipped, and by her own mother, no less.
Bronwyn had done as all good crows were expected to do. She’d found a partner to rut with during her heating period. She’d ensured the survival of her people. She was a good little girl and made the clan proud. She gnashed her teeth.
What she wanted or needed didn’t matter. Everything was about what the people wanted, what the people needed. None of this had ever been about her.
Her heart twisted as she remembered the utter incandescent freedom and joy she’d experienced in her grizzly’s arms. His body and hers had fused so perfectly as though they’d been crafted by the gods for one another.
From the moment he’d touched her, her soul had awoken from a deep slumber. In his arms, she’d found the type of freedom she’d only ever found in the skies.
But then she’d had to leave him, to shatter his heart, to watch as his soul had crumpled in front of her. Bronwyn had let instinct guide her the day she’d flown to the grizzly’s cabin.
She’d known all along there was something special about him. And she’d been waiting for the perfect opportunity to make herself known to him.
Lifting her hand, she stared down at the bit of red string she now permanently wore tied around her ring finger. He would never know the truth.