by Alix Labelle
"How many people live here?"
"On any given week, about ten. There are more of us on the full moon usually, and when there are area meets we get a lot of guests from other packs, but it’s a pretty quiet place, really. We're not a big pack. Devlin likes to keep it small enough to give everyone his attention when they need it."
It was good leadership, Erin supposed. She collected some food with Jenna and sat down at the kitchen table to eat. As they polished off the soup and bread, Jenna told that she'd come here when she'd disappeared back in high school. Her parents hadn't been able to deal with her lycanthropy. They'd needed a safe place to drop her off, so they'd chosen to bring her to Devlin's pack, which they'd learned about by sheer luck.
"I finished high school in the area, and then I just stayed. Devlin is a good leader. I could have ended up a lot worse places." She smiled. "He's a really good man, Er. And he's even single."
"I would have thought you'd be all over that."
Jenna grinned at her. "I might have," she confessed. "I did have a crush on him when I first came here. He wasn't the leader then. His dad was. But he was good too. Which is kind of beside the point. Point is, I did have a thing for Devlin once upon a time, but he wasn't really interested in me, and I found someone new to be interested in."
"Oh?" Erin tipped her head to the side in question, giving Jenna an expectant look.
"You met him," Jenna said. "He's our doctor."
Erin grinned at her. "Well, then. I'll make sure to keep well away."
"Devlin likes you too, you know. Or he wouldn't have brought you this far. He'd have dropped you off somewhere with some money, and let you go back home after a couple days. But he wanted to bring you here."
Erin wasn't sure that was entirely true, but she didn't point that out.
When they had finished eating, Jenna led her upstairs again, to a door at the end of the long hallway, and knocked lightly.
"Come in," Devlin's voice called.
Jenna opened the door and ushered Erin through, then stepped back and closed it behind herself.
"Hey," Erin said quietly.
Devlin looked up from some paperwork spread across the desk he was sitting in front of. He smiled.
"Hey," he answered, just as soft. "How are you?"
"Well they took care of my foot and I got some food, so I'm doing pretty well. You?"
"Aching a bit. That fight wasn't really good for my ribs, but they should be back to normal soon. We heal pretty fast. Except injuries from silver, and another were's claws or teeth. Those take longer, for whatever reason. No one has really been able to explain it."
"I'm not really here to talk about your healing ability, to be honest."
His eyebrows lifted and he smiled. "No? I would have thought you'd be very interested."
Erin laughed, but she shook her head.
"Maybe another time," she said.
He stood up from the desk and stepped toward her, stopping a little too close to be considered outside her personal space. This close, she had to tip her head back to look up at him, and she could almost feel the heat of his body. He ran warm, but there was none of the feverish heat there had been the first day, and his face wasn't flushed or clammy.
"Are you okay?" he asked. "Honestly?"
Erin ran a hand through her hair.
"Honestly?" She sighed. "I've been better. I mean, I don't mind being here." I don't mind being with you. "But I ran out of my house with nothing."
"We'll get your things back. They won't take them. They've no use for them. And we'll send you home as soon as it's safe. I promise."
Erin dipped her head and nodded. Devlin's fingers curled under her chin, gently lifted it.
"You're so quiet all of a sudden."
"Yeah. Well." She smiled a little crookedly. "Someone helped me come to a realization."
"Did they?"
Erin looked up into his eyes, a hazel that almost seemed amber in the light pouring through the high narrow windows.
"They did," she said, hardly above a whisper.
He leaned down, slowly, and pressed his lips to hers.
His mouth was warm and confident, one of his hands settling on the small of her back and drawing her in toward him. Erin wrapped her arms around his neck once more, though she was careful not to put too much weigh on his body. She didn't want to stress his ribs.
The tip of his tongue traced the seam of her lips with careful attention, and Erin let them part under it, opened up as he deepened the kiss, the hand that had been on her chin curling around the nape of her neck and cradling her head.
When they broke apart, they were both panting.
“I wanted you from the moment I first saw you, standing there looking at me like I was an absolute idiot,” Devlin said, lips curling into a smile.
Erin laughed.
“I’m not sure I can say the same,” she admitted. “Hot as you are, I don’t usually go for guys who are bleeding and unconscious. And as much as I wanted to kill you when you were staying on my couch, I didn’t want you to leave either.”
His hands were still on her, holding her close, and he stole another kiss. If it had been meant to be quick, it wasn't. The kiss turned long and slow and lingering, and the hand on the small of her back slid down until it could curl around the back of her thigh. Erin broke the kiss with a gasp.
“Moving a little fast, there, don’t you think?”
“Am I?”
He gathered her up into his arms despite her protests, and carried her over to the big four poster bed that sat in one corner of the room, covered with a deep blue duvet. He dropped her gently down onto the mattress, and Erin laid there looking up at him as he joined her, stretching out along her side.
“I admit, I might not exactly be in shape for a marathon session of any kind, but I think I’m okay for a kiss or ten.”
“Or ten.” Erin gave him a look that he answered with a decidedly smug grin. Okay. Yeah. She would be interested in a kiss or ten, and he knew it.
His hand curled carefully into her hair, and he claimed her mouth again. This time she let herself touch him, keeping her hands gentle as they slid along his sides, exploring the line of his waist below the worst of the damage, the taper of his hip. His free arm slid beneath her, and his hand settled against her hip, just where the hem of her shirt had ridden up a bit and he could press his big warm palm to her skin. It felt good.
A kiss or ten turned into a good deal more than ten, and Erin was beginning to wonder if there wasn’t a way to take it a little farther without stressing his ribs when he rolled them over so that he settled above her on his elbows, looking down at her. Loose locks of his hair curled around his temples and over his forehead. He was smiling.
“Look at it this way,” he said, leaning down and brushing a kiss over her lips, her cheek, her forehead. “There are a lot of places you could be right now, but wouldn’t you rather be here?”
Erin tangled her fingers in his hair and drew him down for another kiss, and then another.
“Yes,” she answered when they had broken apart again to catch their breath, their chests rising and falling in quick motions. “I would rather be here.”
And it was true. She wasn’t sure she believed in love at first sight, but there was something between them that went beyond want, and maybe it was just the adrenaline. Maybe they had bonded over the near death experience in her apartment, but for the moment, they had what they had, and they were here. Safe. Sharing a bed in the slanting light of afternoon in a big old house in the middle of the woods, and there was pretty much nowhere else she would rather be.
Erin wrapped an arm around Devlin’s shoulders as he settled his weight carefully down, until he was almost touching her, one arm curled under her head, and the other still supporting his body beside her.
“Oh,” he said suddenly, looking down at her with a grin. “My name. It’s Devlin Randall.”
Erin laughed, and pulled him down for another kiss.
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THE END
Enchanted by the Bear
Bear Shifter Romance
Enchanted by the Bear
My name, for what that is worth, is Aurelius. I am, at this moment, sitting at my writing-desk in a far-flung corner of the Russian empire. Just last century, it was the governorship of Smolensk. Kingdoms crumble, empires tear themselves apart. Somehow, I still persist.
I suppose I should clarify this for you, the reader. My life is almost infinitely-long, because I live between two worlds. I spend half the year in the form of a bear.
Well, yes. Once you have recovered from the shock of that, perhaps we can proceed? Very well.
It is an ancient curse set upon my family in the mists of time. The reason for the curse long-forgotten, my ancestors have finally passed on after perhaps a thousand years. That brings me to the other problem: indefinitely-long life. As I am the only man living to experience such a thing, I cannot make a study of it, but it seems shape-shifting as I know it makes you close to immortal. Not quite immortal, as my ancestors are dead, but problematically close. That is the central problem of my life. We will come to that.
You may ask why I write this account. It is so I do not forget. After the hibernation and transition between shapes, the memory is cloudy, almost gone. Even one's own appearance is forgotten.
To this end, I should describe myself. Last time I looked (for mirrors are a rare commodity), the glass showed me a tall man with muscled shoulders and a fine-boned, patrician face. Long pale hair, which I have never tonsured and large golden eyes. I must admit I am rather pleased with the image I saw, although in all piety I should not admit that.
Now that you (and I) have a record of my looks, let us address the matter at hand.
Hibernation.
I would tell you of it if I could. The thought of hibernation occurs to me now, as it is linked inextricably to the essence of my story. Kyrila.
It was winter when I saw her.
Golden. She outshone the russet and oranges of the deepest autumn. Her hair, her eyes. Such eyes. You are not as I am, and would only dimly appreciate the intensity of feeling, as you are without the clarity of perception of a bear. Still, you may imagine it.
It all began with her. I did not know then where it would end. I do not know, even now.
I only know that I must set it down, for she is the most precious thing. My story, once so secondary to me, now bears a primary importance. It is also her story.
***
“Brother Luca?”
I turn slowly, my mind returning to the present. The prior of the monastery is standing at the door. I smile at him. He is a friend.
He walks in wearily, and sits by me, lays his hand on mine. I can see he has not been sleeping well; his eyes are set in deep wrinkles, his face rumpled.
“Prior?” I ask.
“I am concerned about you, my brother.”
“About me?” My voice rises in mild surprise.
“You are not yourself. All day you spend writing. I have not seen you for weeks.”
It is true. I have been elsewhere. Sometimes here in the library writing. Sometimes in truth I have been in the woods with her. That is another story. We will come to that.
Now, I smile at the prior. I believe he sees the signs of sadness in my face. He pats my hand.
“Tell me. Whatever it is. You can trust me, brother,” he says.
“Thank you.” I mean it.
He is the closest thing I have to a friend, always opening the monastery door with no questions asked about my absences. And he is learned. We have spent hours in lively debate. Like me, he has been to the East, to the Holy Land. We have much to discuss.
“I miss our talks.” He seems to read my thoughts.
“I too, Prior.” I smile, my eyes still weary.
“My door is always open.”
“Thank you.” I bow my head. “There is much I would like to tell you.”
“My ears are open, whenever you wish to speak.”
With that, his hand pats mine, and he is standing, wincing as he settled a hand against his back. He throws a last smile to me and leaves.
I watch the door after he has gone. So much I would like to tell him. And it is all of her. Kiryla.
***
As I sit here, musing and writing, my mind takes me back to the first day I saw her…
Her hair hung loose, and spread out around her pale shoulders like cloth of gold, her eyes golden mirrors, brighter than all the coins of Byzantium. A rounded body with full breasts, soft as Oriental silk. She was then, and is still, profoundly beautiful. I feel a stab of desire, a physical ache, even as I think of her. And my heart aches worse.
I stood in bear form when I saw her, engaged in collecting nuts and readying myself for hibernation.
I heard singing.
Music truly comes to life for a creature. The senses mix and you can see a song. This song danced purple, like the night skies above Damascus. It wove its way through the forest like a spell. I sat up on my legs, and listened closer. The song stopped.
I waited for a moment, then shrugged. Even as a bear, I am essentially Epicurean. I turned back to the nut-tree and sampled more of its goods.
Another huge advantage of a creature-form is that you can feel a presence without needing to turn round. I felt that. Turned to face it.
She appeared tiny in form, standing below the nut tree. Why is she not afraid? People fear bears, especially tall male bears, when alone in the forest.
She remained unafraid. In fact, she stood perfectly still.
I wondered what she might have been thinking and what had happened in her life to make her so unafraid. I can feel much more than a person’s presence if they allow it. It’s possible to feel their memories, their entire life. I had longed for the chance to know her story.
Her eyes finally met mine. The blank surprise in my head became a throbbing buzz, and I heard her voice.
Hello, it said, pleasantly. I'm Kyrila. Who are you? What are you doing today?
I can tell you, nothing can describe what I felt. I sat down on my haunches, astounded. I had never experienced such a thing. And I have lived, perhaps, four hundred years.
I...I stammered.
I was profoundly in shock. And I do believe the word is shy. My dealings with women have been distant, entirely non-instructive.
I...It's winter. I managed.
What did I say that for? Ludicrous.
She smiled. A silvery laugh echoed back to me.
It is, isn't it? She said with her mind. Well, Mr. Bear, have a good winter. I hope to see you in springtime next year.
Then she turned away.
Goodbye, I managed.
Goodbye.
She disappeared into the forest.
I was left, alone.
What happened?
I still do not know, even now. That question has instead birthed more questions. Now that whatever had happened has changed my life, unutterably and unalterably. What will I do? Sometimes, it seems, there are no answers.
However, I know more now than I had then.
***
Evening settled darkness over the cottage, the constant flames in the grate perseverant in the winter air.
Mother sat by the fire. Kiryla had never noticed before how old and weary she had become.
“Mother?”
The older woman looked up, blinking.
“Kiryla. Daughter. Come, sit by me.”
Her hands, which clasped Kiryla's wrist, looked painfully-thin and felt icy cold. Nevertheless, she smiled at Kiryla.
“Your father is out at the barns. We have time to talk a moment.”
Kyrila rolled her eyes in sympathy. As he aged, her father became more short-tempered and difficult. Anger at his own infirmity makes him unreasoning.
His infirmity meant that he could not farm. Too old to guide a plow, till fields, gather seed, or herd stock, he labored beneath the yoke of his own resentment now.
At seventeen, Kiryla faced the slow ruin of her family.
She sighed. She could marry some strapping, boorish farmer, who would till the land and abuse her and take over the farm.
But she could not. She would not do that, would not allow life to crush the spark inside her. It spoke to the stars, sometimes, and under heaven she refused to let that go. But her mother was dying.
“Mother?” Kiryla interrupted her mother's flow of talk. “You need something for your chest. You are unwell.”
“My daughter, you see what others try to hide.” Her mother's smile eased the lines in her face and warmed Kiryla’s heart.
Kiryla swallowed. That is just part of it. If you knew what I feel and see, you would be as wary as I am about it.
“As it happens,” her mother continued, “I would like something to ease the pains. Could you visit Alena for me?”
Alena. The wise woman. Kyrila lived in awe of Alena, but had also come to love her. She proved the only person who understood the things that happen to Kiryla. And the older woman shone as an example of the gift that she and Kiryla had. She was what it can look like, what it can become, when treated with respect.
She looked at her mother, gold eyes shining. She loved her visits there.
“Of course,” Kiryla said, voice soft.
***
My next memories lie in winter. In them, I am in my cave, and most fully in my bear form…
Around me, the forest slumbered, utterly silent. And I felt tired, so tired. My blood had slowed to almost-stagnant, my head hazy, my mind swimming. The time approached for the long sleep to descend.
Despite all of this, my senses dwelled on her—Kiryla. My mind, my heart, my body… all saw only her. Her full, warm figure, her exquisite golden eyes.
Only a week had passed since I saw her, and I could think of nothing else.
However, I could do nothing to address this longing. Even if I were not a bear, and she were here with me, and willing, my body remained as weak as a newborn. The onset of hibernation weakens me so much.
I scarcely permitted my longing, pouring a thousand scorns on it. Why would she love me? Would she even talk to me if she met me again in human form? I wanted so much to find out.