by Elle Thorne
Grant stepped closer, careful, not sure what he would encounter, and wondered if the man could be alive after losing all that blood. He paused in front of the door. Jeff’s eyes were open, a look of surprise and horror on his face. There was a knife next to him. Grant stared at the dead man.
Chelsea couldn’t have done this, could she? Had Jeff attacked her, and she’d killed him in self-defense? Where was she now? His bear took over, sniffed for her, and found her scent easily. Found another scent too, a male. Had someone found her? Was that someone helping her, or was it an enemy? He didn’t recognize the scent.
Grant took off at a fast pace, running between trees, chasing her scent. It grew stronger and stronger, staying on a main path, heading somewhat toward the abandoned post. Was this a local? Who else would know about the post?
Grant slowed to get his bearings and to scent for her location. His breath left tiny puffs in the cold air. That was when he heard them.
Voices. One man’s, one woman’s. Chelsea. Who was that with her?
The man was hidden by a large tree trunk.
Chelsea was talking. “No. I don’t know what he was talking about.”
Grant grit his teeth at how disheveled she appeared. And how pale. Clearly this asshole wasn’t taking care of her. There was a fresh bruise on her cheek, on the same side as the laceration from the night before. His bear roared deep within Grant’s brain, causing his head to ache. He fought to regain control.
“Don’t lie to me.” The man’s voice was a loud snarl. “He said you have a boyfriend.” A hand popped out from behind the tree, and Chelsea swerved and ducked, avoiding the swing.
Grant gripped the tree trunk. He was going to kill this man, whoever he was. He held the bear in him back from charging. He didn’t know what weapon the man had trained on Chelsea. He couldn’t afford to have her shot or cut.
Chelsea was talking again. “Jeff doesn’t know anything about me. Nothing at all. He asked me out. That’s all there is to know.”
“So who is this Grant that he mentioned?”
Chelsea paused, was silent for a moment. “He’s a man I know. You don’t need to worry about it. There’s no reason to hurt him too.”
“I told you, I won’t have other men looking at you. Jeff got his just desserts. This Grant fella will too. I’ll get you situated somewhere, then I’ll go take care of him.” The man moved out from behind the tree.
Grant got a good look at him. Dirty jeans, a scuffed-up coat, unshaven, and with an angry scar that crossed his cheek. That was Chelsea’s ex. The one she was running from. A cop. Probably armed.
Snow and leaves crunching nearby caught Grant’s attention. He looked across the clearing they were in to see if the man or Chelsea had noticed, but they seemed too embroiled in their argument.
Grant scrutinized the source of the noise. What was back there? Then it came into view.
No.
She came into view.
What the hell was Mae doing here? What the hell did she think she could do? She’d make things worse. Now the asshole would have two hostages.
Damn. Damn. Damn.
Chelsea and the man hadn’t seen Mae yet. Grant tried to wave her off, not worried that he was a bear because she’d seen his bear before, and having been married to a shifter, she was no stranger to shifter ways.
She wasn’t looking in his direction, and didn’t see him. Instead, Mae stalked closer to the couple, a shotgun in her hand.
Great. That made it worse. She’d more than likely be shot.
The man turned to Chelsea, grabbed her and shoved her in front of him, then yelled, “Put the shotgun down, and step away from it.”
Shit. He’d seen Mae.
“Mae.” Chelsea’s voice shook, tears obvious. “Oh, Mae.” Chelsea had lowered her voice, but his bear still heard it. “Why did you come out here?”
“I had to make sure you were okay.” Mae put the shotgun down and sidestepped, locking eyes with the man. “Who are you?”
“This is Derek. Mae, my boss.” Chelsea was introducing them as if they were at a social event, not as if he was a killer who’d stabbed and killed Jeff, and was holding her hostage at gunpoint.
Derek indicated the shotgun. “Go get that, Chelsea, and bring it to me. Don’t try anything or I’ll have to blow a hole in your friend Mae here.”
“Stop. I’ll get it. Don’t hurt her.” Chelsea stomped to the shotgun, picked it up, and carried it to Derek.
Derek checked it. “Loaded, huh?” He smiled an evil grin. “Aren’t you the brave little missus?”
A sneer crossed Mae’s face. Grant wondered if she knew he was watching. A part of him was glad she was here. He didn’t want to risk scaring Chelsea with his bear.
He stepped from behind the tree and bush that had given him a hiding place. He reared up on two legs, threw his head back, and released a roar of pure anger.
Chelsea screamed.
“What the fuck!” Derek raised his handgun.
“No!” Mae yelled.
Grant closed the distance rapidly, his bear seeing red. He had every intention of not killing Derek, but he couldn’t say the same for his bear, especially when Derek pulled the trigger. The round caught Grant in his upper torso, ripping into his shoulder. He didn’t let it affect his momentum.
He raised his claw, swiping at Derek, catching him across the throat. Blood spurted.
At the same moment, Derek pulled the trigger again, delivering another round into Grant, then the man collapsed.
Grant fell on top of Derek, crushing him before he rolled over.
Chapter Eighteen
Chelsea stared at the bear that had attacked Derek. Huge and furry, it lay still. Derek was bleeding from his neck and lying very, very still. There was no way he’d lived through that mauling. She couldn’t say that she was upset. Did this mean the nightmare of running was over? She backed up, afraid that the bear would still be alive and attack her.
Mae was crying, reaching for the bear, and kept repeating Grant’s name.
Chelsea grabbed for Mae’s shoulder. “Let’s go.” If the huge animal came to, it would kill them both with a single swipe. “Grant’s not here. Let’s go. Now. Before it wakes up. Hurry,” she hissed.
Mae shrugged her off. “No. Don’t you get it? I can’t leave him. I won’t. Don’t you know?”
A part of Chelsea did. A memory was returning. Being carried...
But she didn’t want to... No, that couldn’t be. But her memory said it was true. She sat next to Mae, buried her head in her hands, and rubbed her temples.
Mae was talking to the bear, beseeching it. “Please, Grant. You know you can’t die. It doesn’t work like that.”
“Woman. You’re killing me. Quit with the smothering. And what the hell were you doing?”
Grant’s voice?
Chelsea’s head snapped up. It was him. His shoulder was bloody, a mess of flesh, torn up, but not as bad as... Was it possible it wasn’t as bad as it had been a few seconds ago? How could that be?
He healed fast. Was that related to the bear? She couldn’t tear her eyes off his wound. “You—”
“Now you know my secret.” His voice was a groan. A small smile, tempered with pain, played on his lips.
“I was starting to wonder if I knew it. I’m remembering that night. And I don’t think it was a hallucination.”
He shook his head. “It wasn’t.” He groaned in pain.
Mae put her hand on Grant’s shoulder. “You had me so worried.”
“And what were you thinking, coming out here like some damned vigilante?” He put his hand on Mae’s.
Everything came crashing down on Chelsea.
Grant and Mae. It was true.
She stood, rubbed her hands together. “I—” What the hell was she going to say? She couldn’t leave. She had no car. She had no way to get to her car. Jeff was dead in his SUV. She would have to stay while they called the police. At least she was done running from Derek, but s
he’d have to deal with avoiding these two while everything wrapped up. More running, it would seem.
“Chelsea.” Grant rose to his feet, wincing as he rolled his shoulder. “Wait.”
“I’m sorry.” Chelsea shook her head. “I never meant to come between you two. I feel so guilty. I was confused. What happened... that shouldn’t have happened.”
“Chelsea,” Grant started again. “Please, wait.”
Chelsea turned to Mae. “I’m so very sorry. I didn’t mean to do anything to hurt you. I wasn’t planning to.”
“I think there’s a misunderstanding.” Mae looked from Grant to Chelsea. “Chelsea, Grant is more like my nephew.”
Chelsea laughed mirthlessly. The pain of all this stung too deeply, penetrating the shock of the last few hours’ events. “He’s too—you’re too—no, he’s not. You’re about the same age.” Was Mae trying to make her feel better?
“Mae was married to my second cousin,” Grant added.
“And that means...?” Chelsea didn’t want to get her hopes up.
“It means you’re the one I want.” Grant pulled her close to him.
Chelsea shivered, but ignored the cold. She looked at the blood on his shirt. She couldn’t process what he’d just said. It didn’t want to sink in fully, so she did what she always did: she opted for a practical detour with a question. “Don’t you need to see a doctor?”
“No. I don’t. Though I’ll see Doc Evans shortly, just to make sure.” He rolled his shoulder.
She could see that under the shot-shredded fabric the skin was beginning to heal, leaving behind the bloody mess of his shirt, but at least his flesh was mending.
She shook her head, trying to wrap her mind around that. At the same time, she recalled the other night, when she’d been hurt and drugged up, the fur, the warmth, the tenderness of being in the bear’s embrace as he carried her to the cave. “You became a bear.”
He touched her forehead with his lips, a tender kiss. “My kind does that,” he whispered in her ear.
Mae watched them, not saying a word, except there was a big smile plastered on her face, as if she’d just gotten a great birthday present.
Chelsea was starting to understand the nature of Mae and Grant’s friendship. And at the same time she felt foolish for having thought differently. A slow warmth, unimpeded by the coldness of the day, washed over her.
“And your cousin, who was married to Mae? The same thing?”
Mae cleared her throat and waved her arm around as if to indicate Derek and the situation, bringing them back to the present.
Grant nodded. “We need to take care of all this.”
“Let me handle it,” Mae said. “I can make it all go away. I need you both to go, though. Quickly. And you’re going to call Doc for your shoulder.”
When Grant opened his mouth to protest, she held her hand up, a command in her gesture, brooking no argument.
“You sure?” Grant’s eyes closed slightly, as if he doubted her.
“What do you mean?” Chelsea was becoming more confused with every moment.
Mae tossed Grant a set of keys. “Take her out of here while I take care of all this. Send Joe to get me. I’ll call a friend to help me out with some of the logistics. I’m parked near the SUV.”
Grant snatched the keys out of the air, then put his uninjured arm around Chelsea. “We’ll be at the house.”
Chapter Nineteen
In his front hall at home, Grant stripped his shirt off, then looked at his wound in the mirror. It was completely healed.
Chelsea’s eyes widened. “I can’t believe it.” She shook her head. “Just like that, you’re healed.”
Grant nodded. It still amazed him, especially since it wasn’t often that he was shot or injured to this degree. His days of conflict had ended years ago, and of late he’d settled nicely into being the clan’s head, a quiet and drama-free leader who tolerated no trespassers on their territory, and no issues that would attract the attention of humans.
“So, does that mean you’re—does that mean you don’t die?”
“No. I can die. But not from this sort of thing. It’s more about separating me from my bear. That would cause me to become a—” He hated using the word. He hated that it sounded like he was minimizing it. “It would make me more human. Then I’d live a human life and I’d be killed by things that kill humans.”
A puzzled look crossed Chelsea’s face.
He took her by the hand and led her out of the hallway into the library, in front of the large desk. “I’m not immortal. But our kind has longevity. Long, long lives. And we don’t die unless we’re separated from our bear spirits.”
She sighed. “I don’t have to understand it.” Her gaze roamed over his chest, and a desire lit in the back of her eyes.
He scented her arousal, and it awakened both the bear and the man in him. The adrenaline of being wounded and having to save the woman he wanted as his mate heightened his sexual drive. In his pants, he felt his cock straining, pushing, wanting her. Wanting to possess, own, take, and brand himself deep within her.
“Do you want to...?” He was going to ask if she wanted to understand it, if it mattered, if he mattered enough that she’d want to know, but how would he do that? How could he show this woman how much she’d come to mean to him when he wasn’t sure if she was in as deep as he was?
Chelsea cocked her head to the side, a glint in her eye. “I do.”
A tiny frown crossed Grant’s forehead. “You do what?”
“I do want to.” She placed a hand on his stomach, then her fingers crept their way up over his chest, wandering through the sprinkle of hair, up, over, onto his uninjured shoulder, and then around his neck. She stepped closer into his hemisphere, her eyes sparkling, locked on his, her cheeks flushed from the warmth of the roaring fireplace Joe had started in the library before he’d left them alone.
Without taking his eyes off of hers, he reached for her top, took it by the hem and raised it over her head. Her skin took on the glow from the flames, its fairness enhanced. Her bra was low-cut, leaving the upper halves of her creamy breasts exposed for his viewing pleasure. A tiny dusting of freckles made its way across her chest, dissipating at the swell of her breasts. Her chest moved with each breath, as if she was offering her body to him.
“Chelsea.” His voice was a rumble from deep within, part his, part his bear’s. He picked her up and set her on the desk, then reached behind her, unhooked her bra and pulled it off, setting her breasts free, her nipples at attention, dark pink like candy kisses, waiting for his touch. He lowered his head, blew a breath on one, watching it pucker and harden.
Chelsea gasped, threw her head back, her legs spreading, probably unaware of the picture of desire she made. Certainly not aware of the depths to which his cravings ran.
Grant took her nipple in his mouth, drawing it in, sucking on it, letting his teeth graze it as she moaned and dug her fingers in his scalp. Her nails bit into his flesh. He reached for her other breast, weighed its fullness in his hand, squeezing it while his thumb and forefinger plucked and rolled its hardness as Chelsea squirmed on the desk.
Her moans were taking him to a place he wouldn’t be able to return from. He wasn’t sure he could do what he’d done in the cave and not fill her. His body yearned to have her slickness wrapped around his shaft, milking his lust, pouring her desire over him.
While his mouth pulled on her nipple, his hand drifted down, unbuttoned and unzipped her pants, and tugged them over her hips. She raised her ass, and he slid them off. Her aroma rose, searing his senses with the essence of her flavor, pushing all inhibitions aside.
Gentleness be damned.
He shoved her legs apart, lowered his head into her trimmed patch and inhaled her, taking her scent in, filling his lungs with the everything of her.
* * *
Chelsea held her breath, her fingers entwined in his hair, pushing him lower, wanting his mouth to take her the way his heart had take
n her very soul.
His tongue touched the top of her slit and slid through the folds.
She gasped.
Then his tongue touched her clit. A cry escaped her throat, one of desperation—she had to have him, to be had by him.
“Grant.” She couldn’t control the acuteness of the urgency driving her forward. Where was the shy girl who never took the first step? “I need you.” She spread her legs, putting her heels on the edge of the desk, opening herself to him.
He spread her lips with his fingertips. “Fuck, I love your pussy. It’s beautiful.” He blew a gust of his breath over her. Its hotness turned cool as it passed over her lips. He spread her even more, unhooding her tiny nub, touching his tongue to the sensitive little core.
Chelsea jumped as if an electric charge had touched her clit. The sensation traveled to her nipples and then, rather than stopping, it sent a surge straight to her head. She closed her eyes as the sensation passed through her.
He slipped a finger in. “So wet for me already.”
Chelsea moaned, heard the sound of his zipper, felt something hot and full pressing against her entrance. She reached down, felt his velvety steel shaft, its mushroom head with a defined ridge throbbing against her fingertip. She wiggled, trying to get him to enter her channel. She wriggled even closer to the edge of the table.
Grant reached around, took her ass in his hands. She shifted her pelvis, put her hands on his hips. With a thrust and a stretching, he was in her, filling her, pushing her to a place she’d never been before. He was huge compared to anyone else she’d been with. And it seemed he swelled even more, filling her to an almost painful level. She gasped.
His desire was fueled as he pulled back, his head almost completely out, and drove back into her, a grunt on his lips. In and out, he thrust in the same way several times while a fierce feeling began to build in Chelsea. She couldn’t pinpoint it, but somewhere, in her mind or in her body, or both, a wave was cresting. She pushed it back, overwhelmed and confused by the intensity of it.