by Celia Kyle
Idiot parts. Those bits of her were “too stupid to live.”
Van breathed deeply and somehow her gaze wandered to his wide chest, to the way it expanded when he inhaled. “Lauren, love.”
She shook her head. No, there was no love. Not between them. Lots of like and a fuckton of lust, but that was it. Okay, the “like” was two fucktons, but she wouldn’t say it aloud. Not after the way he reacted in Ty’s office.
“No, look,” she huffed. “This was a mistake.” Van growled, but she continued. It wasn’t like he was gonna hurt her. “And I’m sorry we got tied together because of your laws. As soon as we can figure out how, we’ll break our mating and—”
Lauren didn’t get a chance to finish. He went from near the window to before her in a giant leap. She was alone and then suddenly in his hold, arms wrapped around her like steel bands.
“No. You’re mine. Mine.”
He should have sounded like a possessive asshole.
Should have, but didn’t. Because to her heart, it was the sweetest thing anyone had ever said. No one had ever wanted her, claimed her, and refused to let her go.
She decided to hit where it’d hurt. “Even if I’m human?”
Van grimaced. “That was… the wrong thing to say at the time.”
Lauren pushed against his chest. “And there’s a right time to say something like that? To spew your hate.” She shoved again. “One word and I felt your disgust to my bones, Van.”
“Damn it, Lauren, stop struggling. Gimme a minute.”
She’d give him something.
He changed his hold, scooping her into his arms and then tossing her onto the bed. He came down atop her, blanketing her with his body.
“Hell no, we are not having sexytimes in the middle of an argument.”
Van flashed one of those panty-wetting grins and shook his head. “No, love, that’s for after.” He gave her more of his weight. “Holding you like this means you can’t run.”
He was right, so she glared at him.
He propped his upper body on his elbows, his face inches from hers. He couldn’t hide from her like this, couldn’t turn away or mask his emotions. She wasn’t sure if she liked that, or hated it. What would she see? Did she want to see?
“In any world, human or shifter, there are preconceived notions.”
“Prejudices.” She glared at him.
Van gritted his teeth, jaw twitching. “Prejudices. For humans—”
“Like me.”
“Yes, like you. Are you going to let me finish?”
Lauren rolled her eyes. “Yes, sorry.”
“For humans, you have hatred and prejudices within your own kind. Different religions hate this sect or another, skin color can define the way people are treated, and countries despise other countries.” Van twined a lock of her hair between two fingers. “For shifters… We have problems and ideas about different species. Hyenas breed indiscriminately and are the bottom of the barrel when it comes to how they treat their own. Wolves are callous bastards. The Alpha’s word is law. No negotiation.” He sighed. “That’s what makes this thing with Redby so important. Wolves and bears don’t mix and that they want peace with us…”
Van shook his head. “Anyway. We have certain ideas like any other group except our prejudices extend to humans as well.”
Thanks for that Captain Obvious.
“I’ve seen things, experienced things…” He turned his head away, gaze unfocused, and Lauren took advantage of his inattention.
He’d been right, they needed to talk, but she didn’t have to be held down to listen. She sensed the pain growing in him like a lead ball. It increased in size the closer he got to revealing the truth and maybe, just maybe, he needed to be held and comforted a little too.
She should have known his “dislike” wasn’t unreasonable. That something lurked behind the emotions.
She nudged him, surprising him, and he fell to his side. He grasped her forearm, pulling her close, and she twitched out of the way, twining their fingers together instead. Holding tight, she lay her head on one of the bed pillows, showing him without words that she wasn’t disappearing. She couldn’t read him, read the situation, if he remained hidden from her.
“Tell me.”
Chapter Sixteen
Van didn’t want to tell her a fucking thing. Not one word. Not one syllable.
But he didn’t want to lose her, either.
So, he allowed the locks on his memories to fall away, allowed the pain to surge forward. He started with the worst, began with the hardest part that hurt to his marrow. There was more pain and hate accumulated through the years, but this was where it started.
“I’ve always been the Enforcer just as Ty has always been the Itan.” He saw the confusion on her face and explained a little more. “The firstborn of an Itan, as long as he’s a shifting cub, will inherit the position.” At her nod, he continued. “I was born with a protective streak a mile wide and a firm grasp of right and wrong. So, Dad thought I’d be a good Enforcer, Ty’s right hand, when I got older. I began training with my father’s Enforcer, my uncle, at a young age. I learned fighting techniques, worked on the speed of my shift.”
Using his hold on her hand, he eased her closer, gently pulled until she lay snuggled against him. He held her close, not capturing her, but using her presence for comfort as the memories rushed forward.
“It wasn’t as if Uncle Bren acted like a drill sergeant. He’d take me out on patrols, hunt with me in the forest, that kind of thing. Every cub got a little of that type of training. I just got more and earlier than others.”
Van enjoyed those memories. The ones when he and Uncle Bren would slip into their fur and spend a weekend tracking and hunting. His uncle teaching him how to creep through the forest. The man was a half-ton of bear and managed to not make a sound.
Too bad he wasn’t talking to her about the good stuff.
“We spent every Sunday in the forest. It started in the woods surrounding Grayslake, but as I got older, we ventured beyond town limits. The last time…”
Memories roared in, taking over, shoving him back to that day.
Young shifted Van bounded through the bushes and pounced on a small squirrel, catching it with his paws. He didn’t hurt or kill it though, that was only allowed if he was hungry and they were hunting. It was a rule. Enforcers, bears, didn’t harm anything or anyone unless they had a good reason. Not something like Bobby Green taking his pudding cup. It had to be bad.
Uncle Bren told him that over and over.
The little squirrel squeaked at him, struggling beneath his paws, and Van leaned down, sniffing the tiny animal. He fought hard to memorize the scent, put it in his brain so he’d always have it there. Remembering was important in case he really was hunting for food. He lowered his nose, intent on taking in his prey’s scent, when the stupid-head squirrel bit his snout.
Van whined and jerked back, releasing the animal, and he rubbed his nose with a paw. He didn’t wanna smell the dumb thing anyway.
A low rumbling chuff grabbed his attention, his Uncle Bren fussing at him to pay attention. He responded with his own rolling grumble and backed out of the bush, wiggling until he was free of the sticks and leaves. One big shake got rid of the bits that stuck to his fur and then he smiled at his uncle, letting his tongue hang out.
Uncle Bren couldn’t stay mad if he made the cute cub face. Even his dad had a hard time resisting that expression.
When his uncle just rolled his eyes, Van knew he wasn’t in trouble. Not waiting a second, he bounded toward the other bear, hopping like a rabbit instead of a cub. But it was fun and Uncle Bren didn’t huff at him, so he kept going. He jumped from one leg to another, first balance on his right paws and then popping to his left.
Dead leaves and twigs cracked and crunched under his weight. Van’s dad said he was big for a cub, super strong too. He said it was part of what would make him a good Enforcer. His brother would be the strongest and beste
st, but Van would be almost as good.
Van made sure he kept Uncle Bren in sight. He was supposed to keep up with him, but sometimes he liked to poke around without his uncle. Plus, Uncle Bren wouldn’t let anything happen to him.
But then… a new scent teased Van’s nose. It was… He pulled it in, drawing it all the way into his toes like his uncle taught him. It wasn’t really to his toes, but it had to fill his lungs. Van’s bear couldn’t figure out the source of a scent unless it had a lot of a lot of it.
So, he spread his chest and sucked in as much as he could until he felt like a party balloon. It kinda smelled like deer and a little bit of human. The scent of humans he knew, he lived in Grayslake and the town had lots of them. Not a lot of deer this time of year though. He pulled in more and it was the same, deer and human.
Weird.
Van looked down the path and whined. He couldn’t see Uncle Bren anymore. Oh man, his uncle was gonna be so mad.
Forgetting about the scent, he trotted toward where he’d last seen the other bear. If he managed to find Uncle Bren before he noticed Van was missing, he wouldn’t get in trouble.
More of that human-y scent surrounded him and he picked up his pace. He didn’t want to be caught by humans. He tended to shift back into his human shape when he got scared and he didn’t wanna do that because then Uncle Bren would have to “deal with” the people who saw him transform. Van wasn’t sure what “deal with” meant, but he knew it made Uncle Bren sad when he talked about it, so he never asked.
The rustling of bushes to his left scared Van so bad he stumbled to the right and slid across the leaves. The snap of a tree branch reached him and then he heard a big someone stomping on the ground. Then there were whispers.
Oh man, he was in so much trouble.
“…ready?”
“George says one hundred feet.”
He didn’t know how far one hundred feet was, but it didn’t sound like a super long way away.
“Everyone loaded?”
“Quiet now.”
Another break. Another step. Another rub of cloth against cloth.
They were real, real close. He heard four voices and he wondered if there were more. Van listened a little harder, letting his bear take over some more and he shuddered. They were way very near.
Careful now, trying very, very hard to be quiet, Van crept through the forest. He eased off the path him and Uncle Bren were on and eased around some bushes. He needed to be quiet and fast because he knew the humans were up to no good. They’d tried to cover up their scents with deer smelly stuff. Probably to get a real bear to come to them, but werebears were smarter than that.
Van still heard them talking about guns and stuff, but they sounded farther away now. Good, he could get to Uncle Bren and get out of the forest. He didn’t wanna play Enforcer anymore. He wanted to go home and eat his mom’s cookies already.
A bush to Van’s left rustled and he skittered away. Had they found him? He hoped not. It didn’t sound like they wanted to do anything good to any bears they caught. He stumbled a little, tripping over a broken branch, and then hands were on him. Big hands. Strange hands.
The scent of deer wrapped around him and he knew he’d been caught by one of those nasty humans. Panic hit him, tearing through him, and he released the loudest roar ever. He opened his mouth wide and screamed into the air, hoping his Uncle Bren would hear him.
The whole time he yelled, he wiggle and squirmed, making sure his claws were out. He slashed at anything he could reach. Sometimes it was air and once or twice it was the guy’s arm or leg.
“What the fuck? Little shit.”
A new guy stood in front of him, his arms out like he was gonna grab Van and he snapped his teeth at the man. He wasn’t big enough to hurt a grown up bear, but he could hurt a human. They didn’t have fur, claws, or fangs to protect them.
“Grab his fucking feet and tie them already.”
Van couldn’t let that happen, so he fought harder. He wiggled and wormed, scraping anything he could touch while he roared even more. Uncle Bren could save him. Uncle Bren could hurt them and make them go away.
“What the hell are you gonna do with him?” Another voice. That meant there were three. Where was the other one? There were four.
“Sell him to a circus. He’s young.” Van scraped the man’s leg and fought to turn around, to bite his arm. “They’ll buy a baby bear.”
“You know his momma’s gotta be around here somewhere.”
There was the fourth voice. All four of them wanna sell him to a circus. No.
And he did have a momma. As soon as she found out what they’d done to her baby boy she’d hurt them so fast…
Finally, one of the men caught his back paws in one hand. In the other he had a piece of rope. No, he couldn’t get tied up. He’d never get away then.
Van released another roar, begging his uncle to find him.
The third man held a looped piece of twine in his hand and his attention was on Van’s mouth. He couldn’t let that happen either. If he couldn’t roar, how would a grown up find him?
He fought harder, squirming and growling and fighting and…
A real roar, a grown up roar, hit Van right in the heart. His Uncle Bren was coming back. He let himself relax a little. He wasn’t gonna end up in some circus and his uncle would take care of everything.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck. Told you his momma would come looking. Fucking assholes.” That was from the guy Van couldn’t see, the one who wasn’t trying to tie him up. “Get the damn guns.”
The man trying to tie his feet let go and ran away and then came back with a really big gun in his hands. “Just let the cub go. Send it back to its momma.”
The smell coming from them wasn’t just deer and regular human anymore. Now it was kinda rotted and hurt his nose.
“Idiot. He’s covered in our scent now. You think she won’t hunt our asses down? We gotta kill her.”
Kill? No, they couldn’t kill his Uncle Bren. They couldn’t. Van opened his mouth and released a warning roar. At least, he hoped it was. He prayed it was.
Then his snout was snapped shut and the man with the twine tied his jaws together. He shook his head, trying to dislodge the rope, but it wouldn’t go anywhere. It was on tight, and he thought he smelled a little blood, and…
Van saw his Uncle Bren destroying forest as he ran toward them. Trees broke and collapsed, his uncle pushing them aside like they were nothing. He was saved. These men wouldn’t sell him to some circus and his uncle would make them pay for hurting him. It was just his nose, but they scared him so bad.
But then… the man who’d gone for the big gun brought it up and braced it against his shoulder. A loud, deafening crack filled the forest and rang in his ears. He couldn’t hardly hear, but one thing that did reach him was his uncle’s roar. His uncle wasn’t slowing down. He was still coming at them, his feet pounding on the leaf strewn ground.
The man holding him moved, stumbled a little, and Van wiggled in his hold. They were shooting at his uncle, but if Van got away, they could just run from these mean humans.
The guy who captured him threw him to the ground and he heard a weird popping sound. Pain blew up in his right front paw, forcing a whine from his tied snout. It hurt real, real bad, but Van shuffled away from the men who’d grabbed him. His uncle always told him that he needed to keep out of the way of fighting bears. They were mean and deadly and they might hurt him.
So he hobbled back until he managed to get most of his body behind a tree, but he could still watch what was going on. He was waiting for his uncle to hurt those mean men. He’d bite one or two and run them off and then they could go home because his leg was hurting more and he wanted a cookie.
The man with the gun did something with it and then pressed it to his shoulder again. Then another one of those loud booms bounced around in his head.
Van’s uncle roared and stumbled, and he realized that his uncle’s shoulder was real dark and w
et. They’d shot him. They shot his uncle.
Then his uncle got up and roared some more, rushed forward again.
The man who tied up Van’s snout had a gun now. He brought it up and fired it and he saw exactly where it hit Uncle Bren. Right in his chest. But his uncle kept coming. He didn’t let something like bullets slow him down.
“It’s not fucking going down!” The guy who’d captured him first raised his hand and he had a smaller gun.
Pop. Pop. Pop.
Three more holes in his uncle and Uncle Bren stumbled real hard then. Kinda falling to the side, but then he got up again. His lips curled back, showing off his big teeth.
“Shit.”
Pop. Pop.
No! They had to stop hurting Uncle Bren! Van didn’t care about his hurt leg. He ran as fast as he could on three legs and he went for that man with the small gun. He couldn’t bite him, but he still had claws. Not as big as Uncle Bren’s, but big enough. He slid to a stop, falling back on his butt, and took a swipe at the evil man. He cut through his pants and the scent of his blood filled Van’s nose. It stank and now he was glad he couldn’t bite him. It would have tasted gross.
His uncle gave a different kind of roar. One that told Van to get back and hide. But he was saving his uncle… wasn’t he?
“What the fuck?” The man he hurt spun around and then that gun was pointed at Van, aimed for his head.
Now he was running, fighting to get away, and scrambling and slipping on the leaves. The man’s aim didn’t move and remained on him. He saw him tighten his hand, pulling the trigger, and Van knew a big boom would come and then he’d be bleeding like Uncle Bren.
Then Uncle Bren was there, his uncle coated in blood, his fur dark and stained. He batted at the bad man, slicing him with his big claws. The man fell to the side, but the boom came anyway, immediately followed by pain in his right shoulder. The human shot him and it hurt, and he wanted to cry and scream, but his snout was tied.
Then Uncle Bren looked at him with his black eyes and Van knew he was hurt, knew all the way to his heart that his uncle was in a lot of pain. His uncle roared at him then, the sound nearly breaking his ears and rattling in his head.