by Vonnie Davis
A toe bumped Ronan’s ass. “Are you laughing at me? What is that strange, faint noise? Sounds almost strangled.” She dropped to her knees, yanked off her mittens, and frantically examined him. “Honey, did I hurt you? Let’s go back inside, put some dry clothes on, and have something hot to eat.”
He was going to have to tell her. The time had come. A shiver of fear like he hadna felt since his youngest brother’s wife was attacked by a deranged wizard, ran rampant through his body. She deserved the honesty of what he truly was, even if he lost her in the process.
Anisa put away the clean laundry Ronan had folded this morning while Ronan showered. With such a small supply of clothes shoved into her backpack, she needed to do laundry again tonight. When she’d packed, she tried to shove as much as she could into her backpack, never realizing she’d be snowed in for who knew how long. It looked like this evening would be a silk pajama night—peach trimmed in aqua, worn with a purple thong and dark pink socks. Oh, how her sister Ann-Marie would roll her eyes in disgust, but how much could one shove into a backpack that would fit into the cramped quarters of a drone?
Ronan barely looked at her when he stepped out of the bathroom, wearing a kilt, his long, wet hair tied back with a leather cord. “I’ll heat an early dinner while ye shower. Put yer dark clothes…”
He stopped talking when his gaze landed on the pile of clothes she’d just placed on the bar. He’d evidently zeroed in on the purple thong lying on top. His long index finger slid around the narrow section of material that would cover her crotch. He picked them up and slowly examined their construction, front and back. “These are made to drive a man insane with lust. Ye ken that.”
He cast dark eyes hooded with desire on her. “And we have that condom problem to worry about. Are they leaking or are’na they? Dinna ye think me keeping me hands off ye will be hard enough without knowing what yer thong looks like?”
Oh, this man and all his testosterone would not get ahead of her. “And a Scot wearing a kilt isn’t designed to draw a woman’s eye or make her wonder?” She rested her hands at her waist.
His eyebrows rose. “Wonder what?” The man had such an expressive face, full of strength and a rugged appeal that caused her ceaseless heated reaction to him whenever he looked or scowled at her with his brown eyes.
Good grief, it was almost as if her hormones stood up and did the cancan whenever he was near. Which was why it took her a second to remember the subject of their exchange. “Ah…what, if anything, they’re wearing beneath their kilts.”
He nodded once. “Och. Aye. Every man is different, ye see. I prefer to wear nothing under mine.”
She nodded once to mimic his gesture. “Oh, and if the wind blows? What then?” Her damn hormones were wearing their net stockings and stilettoes, thrusting and shimmying at the thought of his being naked under his plaid.
“ ’Twill blow the stink off me arse.” The corners of his mouth twitched as if he’d laid a trap for her, and her hormones had danced right into it. The battle finally lost, he laughed, full and lusty. “Get out of those wet clothes and into a warm shower. Once ye’re dressed, put yer dark clothes in the washer with mine, and start it.”
She stepped out of the bathroom, wearing her pajamas and scrunching her hair. “The washer’s running. We had a full load.” She couldn’t help but allow her scrutiny to drift over his tall, muscled body and heat up with every fine inch she studied. God, he was so gorgeous, standing there stirring whatever was in the pot and shaking in some spices. His tat ran over his shoulder and down one side of his back almost to his waist. She hoped he couldn’t hear her swallow her mouthful of drool. “What smells so good? Is it a seafood dish?”
He spooned out the mixture. “Aye. We call it Cullen skink. I made some fresh coffee. Do ye want to pour? The mugs are in front of the pot.”
Her hands stilled. “Did you say skink or skunk?”
“Skink. It’s a smoked haddock chowder recipe. Has mashed potatoes in it to give it a creamy texture. We’ll eat at the bar and then move to the sofa. I have things to tell ye about me and me family that will be twice as hard to reveal as yer story was about how the CIA and a fellow Frenchman set ye up as a mole.” He placed steaming bowls and spoons on the counter.
Instead of their moving around the bar to the stools, he exhaled a long sigh. His fingertips caressed her cheeks, sending all kinds of sensual ripples through her body. No other man she’d known could do that to her. She gazed at his eyes and sadness was there, sadness and wariness.
To allay his mood, which seemed to border on distress, she wrapped her arms around his back and stepped into his body, all their curves and angles meeting and meshing. “What is it, sweetheart? What has you so troubled?”
“Let’s get the meal over with so we can talk. ’Tis a long, involved story.”
They sat at the bar eating soup Anisa wasn’t sure she could keep down. Her stomach was twisted in knots. What did this man she’d come to love have to tell her?
“Every generation or so, we have a change in storytellers. Orators. Our clan, the Mathesons, have kept our unique history secretly alive through the telling of our tales when we get together. Over the years, we’ve collected many. I am our clan’s current orator, trained fer years by an older relative.
“Sometime in the future, I’ll have to start training someone younger that I deem suitable, fer it takes a long time to memorize every detail of each extraordinary event in our past. We must choose someone who can memorize and become enamored of our history. A person who will delight in every aspect of what has happened to us before and gladly share these facts with our people.”
“I see. So, you’re kind of like a modern-day Cicero from Rome or Alcibiades of Athens?”
“To me clan, yes. But I am of no importance to anyone else. Are ye finished eating? We’ll take our coffee over to the sofa.” Ronan added more logs to the fireplace and took a seat beside her. He gulped his coffee and cleared his throat a time or two, almost as if he couldn’t get started with all he had to say. He placed his hand on her shoulder, the warmth passing through the silk material of her pajamas. His fingers wrapped around a few curls of her hair. “I fear sharing this will destroy any chance I have with ye.”
“Just tell me all of it, from the beginning, the way I told you about the mess I’m in. Lay it out in logical steps so my analytical mind can process it.”
“Aye. Ye’re right, of course.” He kissed her forehead and for a few brief seconds, rested his cheek against the spot where he’d pressed his lips. “All Scots value the telling of times gone by. ’Tis a gift we give our children, this passing-on of our history. ’Tis especially important for the Mathesons, fer we are a hearty band of Scots. Strong. Brave. Fearless. I need to tell ye of our olden times if we are to have a relationship. Fer ye must know all that I am. What I came from.”
Oh God, his clan killed Frenchmen. What else could it be? “Okay, I’m listening.”
“ ’Twas the year nine hundred sixty. Our band was growing and prospering. We fished, hunted, and grew as a sleuth. When the Vikings, thievin’, murderin’ bastards that they were, sailed to our shores in their long ships, we fought them. And they feared us.”
“What is a sleuth? I’ve never heard that word used except as a person who solves mysteries. But you don’t mean it that way, do you?”
Ronan glanced away and sighed. His gaze returned to her face only to soften as he cupped his fingers around her neck. “Both of me brothers told me, one day I’d meet a woman I’d love so much, I’d fear losing her. That I wouldna want to live a day without her. I scoffed at their comments fer I had no idea how love could make a man feel. Now I understand the truth of their words.” He glanced away again and exhaled a deeply held breath. “A sleuth is a group of bears.”
“Bears? So you’re telling me in nine sixty you were all bears? Your family—ancestors—were bears.” Her heart pounded heavily in her ears until she got control of her emotions. He was a storyteller.
A master of fantasy. None of this was true. It was something made up by the light of some campfire generations ago. No doubt to entertain, like going to the cinema now. “Okay, proceed with your ancient tale.”
“Our battles were long and fierce. Our victories many. A Norseman by the name of Vulund the Flatnose led the attack on our shores. During this era, there were many bears on our shores and in the Highlands. Large, fierce, combative bears.”
Anisa chuckled. “Well, the big bear I landed on when I parachuted from the drone wasn’t so combative. In fact, he laughed. I had no clue bears could do that.”
Ronan looked at her strangely and smiled, shaking his head before he continued. “Vulund the Flatnose requested more longships and men from Eric Bloodaxe in York, the last Viking king of Jorvik, to battle the bears. And, as more Vikings came, the bears fought them off. Aye, they were victorious over the Vikings.”
She was fascinated by the story. Ronan had a way of adding emotion that drew her in and almost made her believe he was telling the truth. She bent her knees and sat on her calves and feet, warming her hands with the mug of coffee. He had her mesmerized.
“Not to be outdone, Flatnose, devious bastard that he was, concocted a plan. With logs to gain leverage, his men moved large boulders into the bears’ caves’ openings along the rocky cliffs of Mathe Bay, blocking them all—save one. After that chore was accomplished, large teams of Vikings were dispatched to round up the bears. They captured the mama sows and their cubs and forced them into the one remaining open cave. Then they set about killing as many male bears as they could. Aye, over time, they killed them all. But before they killed our grandfather of many generations past, he mortally injured Vulund who, before he died, placed a Viking curse on our family.”
“What kind of curse?” Man, this guy could write movie scripts. He’d make millions in historical action flicks.
“That the first male of each generation of our family would die before his thirtieth birthday unless he married a woman with the right amount of Norse blood flowing through her veins.”
“Wow, that’s…that’s the basis for a great legend.”
He took her hand and brought it to his mouth for a kiss. “Not legend, luv. Truth. And so it happened. The eldest male of each generation, our clan’s laird, died before he turned thirty. Some by their own hand. Some by illness or by the brutality of another band of enemies. Until Paisley, me Norse sister-in-law, married me eldest brother weeks before he turned thirty and broke the spell. Ye see, even as an American of both Scottish and Viking descent, she carried the right amount of Norse blood.”
Anisa’s mind was whirling with all the details of his story, for the man was fervent in his belief of it. “What happened to the little bears and their mamas corralled into the cave?” She might as well hear about it all—no matter how fabricated it was.
“Ye see, Anisa, the bears imprisoned in the caves were smart.” He tapped a finger against his temple. “They knew they couldna escape, for Vikings guarded the entrance to the large underground chamber. They cut down trees along our shoreline and cliffs, dragged them to the cave’s opening, and set them afire. Roaring flames imprisoned the bears.”
“Most animals are just as fearful of fire as we humans are. Didn’t they starve?”
“The bears hatched a plan, ye see. The mumma bears were intelligent and cunning, certainly smarter than the enemies. When the Vikings, with all their weapons, came into the cave to kill the bears, they were all dead. Or so it seemed, fer they all acted as if they were sleeping.”
Anisa nodded. “Like they were hibernating. How ingenious.” She could almost visualize the fairy tale in her mind.
“The Vikings left but, before they did, they rolled more boulders in front of the last cave’s opening. For many years, the bears were trapped. They ate roots of plants and herbs that grew downward from above. Ants and insects, too. In one of the chambers branching off from the main cave opening was a pool of water, fed by an underground spring. Aye. They survived.
“Several years later, another group of Vikings, led by Olaf the Yellow, sailed to our shores to rape and pillage our countryside. They sought a place to hide their stolen loot and, not knowing what they’d find, rolled away the rocks from the bears’ underground penitentiary. Imagine the Vikings’ surprise when people walked out. Proud, strong, fierce human beings.”
A chill raced up Anisa’s back. “Humans?”
“Aye. Men. Women. Children. And they were feared. Aye, invincible. Indomitable. Victorious.” He made a sweeping gesture with his hands. “And so we remain today, survivors from those fierce warrior mathes, or bears. We are Mathesons. Sons of bears. We are shifters. Part human and part bear.”
Chapter 10
He stopped talking and stared at her as if waiting for her to respond. She stared back and swallowed. What did he mean they were part man and part bear? Hadn’t he just told her a tale to entertain, like Saint Nick and his sleigh on Christmas Eve? She shifted on the sofa, planting her feet on the floor. “How much of the story you just told me is true?”
“All of it, Frenchy,” he whispered as a log tumbled into pieces in the fireplace. His hand trembled as he reached to touch her cheek. “The bear ye landed on when ye parachuted from the sky was me.” Anisa’s jaw dropped. Ronan tucked two fingers under her chin and closed her gaping mouth. “Aye, luv, I am a shifter. When ye landed, me bear was in the forefront and I was in the background of our dual persona.”
A nervous laugh bubbled forth and she slid about a foot away from him on the sofa. “Th-that bear was you?” Surely, he didn’t expect her to believe one word of that fantastical tale. “That was a great story. Now am I supposed to make one up to entertain you? I never read fantasy books. My reading runs to math, physics, and theoretical ideas that might happen in the future or have happened in the past, like the big bang theory.”
He nodded and reached for his coffee. “Like parallel universes and being in two places at one time?”
“Well, yes, and how one can become younger by traveling through space. Space and time dilation.” These were theories she had studied and was comfortable with. How one could travel through time, for instance.
“Have ye ever read Charles Dickens’s book A Christmas Carol? ’Twas that not a form of time travel?”
She was getting into the exchange of ideas now. There was nothing she loved more than open dialogue between intelligent minds. “You know, I never thought of the story in that light, but, yes, one could perceive it that way.”
Ronan’s dark eyes suddenly glowed golden. “And yet is it so hard for ye to accept one species can shift into another? To me, all yer bloody theoretical ideas are on the same otherworldly level as me and me clan’s existence. If I shift before ye, will ye believe then, I wonder? Or will ye only fear me?”
Dear God, the poor soul believes his own delusions.
“I dinna want ye to be afraid of me bear, but I do think ’tis time ye met. He’s been begging me since yer first night here. Fear not. He willna hurt ye. Me other half is crazy about ye and wants us to be a family. I call him Brother Bear. Ye can, too, fer he would love it.” Ronan tugged off his socks and untied boots. “He likes to play and have his ears rubbed.”
This guy really is a whack job. He calls his pretend bear a name just like some men do their cocks. Master Johnson. The Whopper. The Beast. Willy Wanker. Wait…maybe that’s what he calls his penis—Brother Bear. Maybe the ears he talks about rubbing are his balls. Okay, I get it now.
He stood, unwrapped his kilt, and stepped backward, away from the furniture, standing naked before her. “Ye are awfully quiet. Are ye scared, luv? Brother Bear is a playful sort. Aye, he’ll want to touch ye, but dinna be afraid.”
Damn if this isn’t the strangest foreplay I’ve ever had. I guess he’s trying to make up for the way he acted earlier about the condoms and refraining from having sex.
“I’m not afraid. Do you want me to undress, too?” She stood and unbuttoned the top button
of her pajamas. Evidently she stood too fast because Ronan became blurry, which made her disoriented even with all the hours she’d spent training in the centrifuge to see how well and at what strength she could handle G-forces. A strange form of dizziness made her crumple to the floor. Odd, the sofa and coffee table remained clear. So did the fireplace, but Ronan’s body flickered and the edges of his frame appeared distorted no matter how many times she blinked.
There was a strange popping noise. His torso extended and his arms and legs shortened. A little tail grew. The positioning of his ears moved from the side of his head to the top and changed into a rounded shape.
She opened her mouth to scream as she skittered backward like a crab across the floor, but the only sound she could produce was a frightened squeak. Hiding behind the large upholstered chair, she peeked around the edge. Ronan…the beast…whatever being was in the room, grew sable fur—maybe a shade darker than Ronan’s honey-colored hair—a black muzzle, and a wide dark brown band of fur around his massive neck. Sweet Lord in heaven, a bear. Hell, it was the one who woke her up the other night. She was sure of it.
Her heart raced, yet she couldn’t draw a complete breath. Her mouth was so dry she was barely able to swallow. Had a man really changed into a bear? She hadn’t been drinking any booze, so she couldn’t be in a drunken stupor. Yet, how had this happened? She’d gone to a movie once where humans shifted into werewolves. The concept had bored her. She woke up as the credits were rolling and other moviegoers were vacating their seats. Now she’d like to see that movie again, if it was anything like watching the real thing; this was both scary as hell and miraculous at the same time.
Oh my God, am I losing my mind? I’ve just watched one species morph into another. Is this merely the manifestation of all my stress of the past week? I’m just hallucinating; that’s all.
Once all the transformation was complete, the bear shook its head several times. He padded in her direction.