“I'm not a damsel, you know,” she said, dredging up what he'd said a moment before.
The man, for a moment, seemed to have forgotten what she was referring to. But then it dawned on him, and a smile stretched out across his lips in recollection. “Ah, I know... My apologies for that, miss... I didn't mean to offend or belittle... Roland, you see, he paints human beings with a broad brush. I just needed to appeal to the right sensibilities, in hopes of getting him to piss off. And it worked didn't it?” Elle didn't answer, still trying to get a read on this strange man- or half-man, rather.
“Marco, why don't you scoot down one, and clear a space for our guest, here? There, that's it... Come on, ma'am... Why don't you join us?” he patted the barstool. “Those beasties over there may bite, but we don't.”
“Oh- no,” said Elle shaking her head, but the temptation an inviting one. “No, I... I'm just here to make a delivery...”
“Oh, come now, love... After what you've been through? After that bastard ripped your little arm off? You have time for just one drink, don't you? Might ease you up a bit, relax you... I'd say that's something you could use, right about now?”
Elle's good sense would have prevented her from accepting such an offer. But she starting to feel something for this man, in spite of herself. She couldn't say with any real certainty what she might be about to get herself into. But she managed to justify it to herself with the excuse that, yes, she was feeling shaken up after the events of the last few minutes... And one drink couldn't possibly do anything but help, now could it?
And so, in spite of her own best impulses, she took a seat beside the man. She smiled, but still showed signs of confusion and uncertainty.
“That's a girl,” said the man, contented at her decision. And then he turned to the man behind the counter, whistling to him. “Seymour! One honey beer for my guest here, if you will... And put it on my tab, please. Also, she's got a delivery for you here, once you get her drink for her. Konrad's assistant, she says, says he's swamped with business and couldn't make it today.”
Seymour, an old man behind the bar with similar gold eyes but a much smaller frame, nodded at this. Then he went about preparing Elle's drink for her.
She was distracted, taking it all in, when the man sitting beside her caught her off guard, extending a hand. Once she came to her senses, she reached out a hand, and shook it, not wishing to offend.
“Name's Nate,” nodded the stranger, making himself known at last. He then proceeded to introduce his companions. “That's Marco.” (The black-haired man who'd moved, “Hello.”) And “That's Argyle.” (The blonde, nodding, “Miss.”)
“I'm Elle,” she said in return, nodding to all three of them, feeling strangely awkward.
Nate smiled at her. A moment of silence hung over them, heavy and uncomfortable, each of them seeming as though they were in need of something to say, but no words coming. Then Seymour appeared once again, setting a glass of frothy, honey colored liquid on the bar. Elle accepted, looking at the stuff.
“You say you've got something for me?” said the old man, continuing to hover, and looking at the basket, which Elle had sat upon the countertop.
“Ah, yes,” Nate answered for her, lifting up one of the lids so that the man could peer inside at its contents. “From Konrad's, a batch of fresh bread...” He paused, though, for a moment. Then he pulled out the loaf that had been squeezed by Roland. It was all squashed and decorated with a particularly grimy-looking handprint. “Mm, except for this loaf here... Pay the girl the full price for the basket, and just take this particular loaf out of old Smiley's pay over there... He's the one responsible for this particular mess...”
Seymour smiled, took the basket, and headed back into the kitchen for a moment to unload it. Elle heard the thud as he dropped the ruined loaf into the trash. A waste, she thought, but of course she had nowhere near the sort of nerve to say such a thing.
A moment later, the old man reemerged, payment for the loaves in trembling hands. Elle nodded at him, accepting the notes, and thanking him for his business. Then she brought the basket back down to her feet, out of the way for the moment. She caught Nate's eyes, staring at her, studying her for signs of something.
God, those eyes of his...
“Not thirsty?” he said at last, and Elle remembered her beer.
“Oh... Yes, I'd forgotten...” She turned back to the beer, staring into it, curious, but uncertain. She sniffed it. But then again, she'd already come close to getting herself killed once over the course of this delivery, hadn't she? So she figured there was no such thing as too much caution. Then she brought the mug to her lips, taking a generous swig of the stuff down her throat. She let the warm, foamy stuff heat her insides, sloshing down her throat in delectable waves.
“God... That's delicious,” she said, surprised, upon pulling the mug back away from her mouth. Not that she'd known what to expect, exactly. She wasn't much of a drinker. Not a teetotaler, nothing like that... But she had a preference for wine when she drank anything at all. Her only experience tasting beer had left her going away disgusted, the taste gross and uninviting. But this- this stuff was sweet, comforting... Cozy, she thought, if that was an appropriate term one could use to describe a flavor... “What did you say this was again?”
“Honey beer,” said Nate. His chest swelled with pride, as though he had been responsible for it's production. “It's a unique alcoholic beverage brewed by our kind...” And all it had taken was this sentence, this slipped line, for the elephant in the room to take a spot of the utmost prevalence in the air above them. “I... I take it, by now, a clever young girl such as yourself has deduced what 'our kind' refers to?”
Elle began to feel awkward again, and she found herself pulling her eyes away. First, they flitted to the sight of the two grizzly bears, still mauling one another. Even the crowd seemed to begin tiring over the extreme duration of the fight. She moved and caught Roland's angry eyes, having never moved from Elle at the bar. The sight gave her chills, but then the bouncer's eyes were pulled from her, his attention redirected. A new patron was attempting to slip in the door, the wood slamming into Roland' backside. Roland moved out of the way, in order to let the newcomer inside.
Then, Elle returned to Nate's eyes, gazing into them, and taking a last, deep swig of her beverage before answering. She needed something to keep her afloat through this most unusual, not to mention stressful, of situations, after all.
“Yes, I-” she replied, then paused, then continued, “You're were bears, if I'm not mistaken... Or bear shifters... I've heard both terms used, I don't know which you prefer...”
“That's correct,” nodded Nate, still grinning. Then he added, “And either term is acceptable... Thanks for being considerate though.”
Elle smiled again, loosening up a bit. “To be honest, I- well, I've never met a bear shifter before... Until your- your bouncer over there...” (She wasn't familiar enough to these folks to refer to Roland by his name just yet.) “Brought me in here, I'd only ever heard stories... For all I knew, that was all your kind was... Stories...”
He laughed, and that gave her license to do so as well. She took another sip of the honey beer, and again, there was that welcome sensation of warming, of sudden, thorough happiness.
“Yes... Unfortunately, human beings and bear shifters have not always held the most amiable of relations with one another, as a whole, at any rate... Which is, to some extent, understandable, I suppose, but sad all the same... We find it in our best interest to remain hidden from the rest of the world, for the most part. We're choosy as to whom we can trust to interact, as you might well imagine. Your boss, for instance... He's well enough acquainted with my boss that the two of them know not to second guess one another. Seymour and Konrad can exchange goods and services. Still, though, I fear that neither of our people, your side or mine, would be as understanding as gents such as Seymour and Konrad. We may be the ones who can transform into snarling, vicious grizzly bears.
.. But we're outnumbered by your kind, not to mention outpaced by your own technology. So, we feel it best, for the most part, to remain hidden away, sheltered... That keeps any sort of conflict we might encounter at the absolute minimum.”
“That makes sense,” said Elle, not knowing what else she could say about this. She took another long swell of honey beer- she was starting to love this stuff. “I can understand why you might want to err on the side of caution with that sort of thing.” Although, in truth, she couldn't at all imagine what it must be like to have to live your life in that sort of fear, under that degree of paranoia. In fact, she felt a brief, fleeting pang of sympathy for Roland. She felt as though she could better understand why the hulking guard might have thought the worst when she'd peeked in through the door earlier. But then, as she looked over in his direction, she caught him looking at her and Nate. It was an expression of intense hatred polluting an otherwise handsome face. Any shred of understanding she might have had for his manner of treating her all but vanished in short order.
She turned back to Nate, and something seemed to have occurred to him in the past couple of moments. “Wait... Did your boss, Konrad... Did he send you to us to make that delivery, without telling you that this pub was inhabited by bear shifters first?”
Elle stared into her drink. She felt very awkward, not wanting to make her boss sound inconsiderate- which he often could be. And she shrugged finally, but then nodded yes. “Yeah... Sort of...”
“Good Lord...” said Nate, disgusted. “You must have had the living bajeezus scared out of you by... That!” he waved his hand toward the warring grizzlies, and then added, “Not to mention that...” His hand this time fell upon Roland, who snarled, then Nate turned back toward the bar. “Seymour! Get this poor girl another drink! I dare say she's been through hell of an ordeal throughout the course of this evening so far, and I'm ashamed at the way she's been treated. We need to show her there's more to us than our, ahem, grizzly facades tend to let on...”
“Oh, God, thank you, but... But that's not necessary, I should be headed back out soon...” Though by the time the words had escaped her lips, the second mug had already been delivered- her first hadn't yet been drained. It occurred to her then that she'd heard that the overwhelming majority of bear shifters were male.
“Ah, eff Konrad after he's put you through this much with your delivery... If he says anything, just tell him that some of us gave the new delivery girl some trouble. And until then, just kick back here with us, drink your cares away, and watch the show...”
The show referred to the tumbling, slashing bears in the center of the room, growing weary at this point. Swaying, as though at any moment, one of them might be ready to pass out.
“Oh God. To be honest,” Elle piped up, “This is all strange for me... I mean... I'm kind of squeamish... Not one for blood sport, or watching creatures kill each other for fun... I mean, if you folks are, that's completely your business, it's just...”
“Kill each other?” said Nate, incensed by the notion. “Good Lord, they don't kill each other! What do you think we are, barbarians? This is just good sport, no different from a boxing or wrestling match carried out by you humans... They fight until one of them K.O.'s, people place bets on it... But it goes no farther than that...”
Elle tried her best to trust Nate, take him at his word, and maintain something of an open mind. Thinking that this was the best way of fitting in with those around her, she gave it a shot. She looked over at the fighters pinned up against one another, slashing, pushing, gnawing at one another... And she tried to see it in the same light as those around her did- as sport, and nothing more. The honey beer took the edge off for her and as she became more accustomed to her surroundings. She managed to at least trick herself into thinking she could stomach the viewing. She did, though, feel embarrassed at her constant flinching whenever either of the creatures managed to land a blow on the other. There was no reaction in the countenances of the other bar patrons. They were all presumably seasoned veterans when it came to witnessing such brutality.
The fight had been going on for some time, she assumed, even before she'd come here. The two grizzlies were full of stamina, a drive to win. She also figured the men witnessing likely had placed rather sizable bets on the winner of the competition. Both parties, as a result, were under rather intense pressure to perform at their best.
Sooner or later, though, things had to end. In spite of herself, Elle actually had to shriek, spitting some of her beer out. One of the bears had tackled his opponent to the floor, performing what appeared to be the death blow. For good measure, he shook his head around a bit, his jaw still clamped into the opponent's flesh. A way of emphasizing the fact of his defeat, she supposed, on no uncertain terms.
“We have a winner!” came a triumphant shout from nearby. Half of the bar erupted into a boom of applause. The other half was disappointed at the results. Several reached into their pockets, retrieving the money they owed.
Elle was stunned. She believed she'd just gotten through witnessing a murder in the name of sport. She felt dizzy, lightheaded, like she needed to throw up.
“Are you alright?” questioned Nate. He patted her on the shoulder, concerned for her well-being. And though she tried to brush him away, there was no disguising her look of disbelief.
In a moment, the victorious grizzly stood with his arms raised in a stance of triumph, treating his supporters to a bit of post-game spectacle. He let out a booming roar that made Elle's heart skip a beat, and his body began to shrink, the fur to recede. When the fighter had returned to his human form he was covered in hair. Elle's impulse was to avert her eyes from the man's nudity, his thick hair his only covering at any spot on his body. But then two things occurred to her. For one, no one else in the bar seemed to be offended by the sight of his muscular nakedness. This was nothing a shifter hadn't seen before, and thus shouldn't be deemed as offensive. And what was more, the blood, the wounds, the cuts, were far more troubling sights than his genitals. The latter were completely natural, to be expected- the gashes all over his body, by contrast, made her cringe on his behalf.
The fighter seemed to care little about the marks across his skin, used to them as he was. His focus, rather, seemed to be on his fallen opponent. Now that the fanfare for him had subsided, he was stooping to the floor, attempting to rouse the fallen grizzly from his stupor. The furry mass began to shrink, to transform, into a vulnerable looking, fleshy mass. Presumably, Elle hoped, it was a sign that the man was still alive.
“Come on now... Let's get you out of here and cleaned up buddy... That's it... There ya go...” The second naked man was brought up to full height. Once again the bar patrons cheered. This time it was for the defeated party.
“See? No harm done. It's all in good fun...” said Nate, leaning into Elle.
“If that's what you want to consider good fun, then more power to you,” she said. She was more confident in her speech than she had been up to this point in the evening with the alcohol in her system. And Nate flashed her a grin. A smoldering grin, one which went a long way in melting her heart in that moment, even if she couldn't explain why.
The two fighters were making their way across the room. The victor, in full control over his faculties, as the loser limped, slumped over the man's shoulder.
“Great fight tonight Peter!” called Nate over to the still-conscious fighter. He looked up, smiling with only partial conviction through his bloodied face, and nodded with appreciation. Elle, from the corner of her eye, could spy Argyle and Marco exchanging money behind her back across the counter. They, too, had bet against one another on the fight, and Marco had won out over Argyle.
At last, Peter and his opponent disappeared behind a door. presumably to get cleaned up and recuperate. Nate gave Elle a meaningful look, as though to say “See, I told you so?”
Elle couldn't confess to being all that enthusiastic about the notion of bear fights. But she had to at least concede that there
was more to these creatures' culture than her first impression, that of sheer brutality. She supposed it might be worth her while, at any rate... To learn and discover more about the way this society worked during this brief and unplanned exposure to their lifestyle.
As the night wore on, Elle found herself striking up quite the intimacy with the man who'd rescued her from torture or death. The tension, the slight awkwardness of their initial meeting, all but dissolved away as the hours wore on. The two of them found themselves laughing, joking, sharing stories about themselves and their lives. Nate, in particular, seemed quite interested in human culture. Almost more, in fact, than Elle had been interested in his own shifter behavior. And the more she shared, the more the other inhabitants of the pub seemed to grow a liking for her as well. Argyle and Marco had remained silent but curious about their guest for the longest time. But given some time and some warming up to this new guest, they began to feature in the conversation themselves. They were actually, Elle came to realize, quite funny. The two of them struck a perfect comedic balance with one another, and caused her to burst out laughing on any number of occasions.
Sam (BBW Bear Shifter Wedding Romance) (Grizzly Groomsmen Book 2) Page 136