by Ava Hunt
Love Bear Nun
(A Paranormal Shifter Romance)
by
Ava Hunt
Copyright © 2016 by Ava Hunt, previously published under a pseudonym but newly rewritten and updated for rerelease
Cover by Rock Bottom Covers/Hard Candies Publishing
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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The Trauma That Never Leaves....
For Henson Phillips, everyday is a battlefield after coming home to adjust to civilian life. His old secret shifter division has been phased out by the government, and now it's time for Henson to adjust to life in the States.
The Wall That's Still High...
For former nun, Jacinda Liberty, freedom still feels so far away. Now a counselor assigns to acclimate veterans back into society, she's still as reserved as she was behind the wall.
A New Beginning...
When Henson is assigned to Jacinda's counseling service, will he find more than he ever thought possible? Will Jacinda break those last chains and find a new life with the bear shifter she's grown to love?
Chapter One
Henson Phillips may have possessed the ability to shape shift into a bear, but if one thing was certain, he could not control it. Not anymore. Flashbacks from his past in the military haunted him on a daily basis, flickering through his mind. Flashes of the fights he was in whipped through his head, blinding him as if he were in a lightning storm. Bloody claws, growls, and sharp teeth; the battles were always vicious. He had finally made it out of that Hell and just wanted a normal life, but that life depended completely and entirely on a woman named Jacinda Liberty. She was in charge of signing the papers needed for Henson to return to work.
As if suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder wasn’t hard enough he had to get someone who didn't even know him and his struggles to sign off that he was fit to perform in society and in the workplace. He didn’t believe he had any problem. To him the problem at hand was this woman holding him back from going back to work. All he needed was to convince her that he was fine.
His stomach tightened as he headed for Jacinda’s office where she worked as a counselor. He feared that she would just say that he couldn’t return to work and be the very thing that stopped him. Walking into the counselor's office was the most difficult thing Henson had done and he had been on the battlefield for years. I need to get back to work, I'm going crazy just sitting at the house with nothing but my memories.
“Hello.” The assistant said in a chipper, enthusiastic voice from behind her desk as Henson walked into the lobby, “Do you have an appointment or are you here to make one?”
“I have an appointment with Miss Liberty.” Henson said, his eyes flickering around in all directions as his anxiety rose.
“Uh oh, it looks like she’s in a meeting at the moment, but you can wait over there until she’s done. It shouldn’t be too much longer.” The assistant said in her bright, happy voice. “She’ll come out and call out for her next appointment by name; you’re next by the way.”
“But there are several other people here.” Henson said, looking over at the waiting room at the seven to eight other people in there.
“They’re regulars; you’re a special case I guess.” The woman replied, catching Henson off guard and made him wonder what was so special about him, “An ex-soldier, eh?”
Henson blinked rapidly instead of responding. He didn't know why he couldn't just casually say "yes", but every nerve ending in his body was vibrating from the anxiety. He walked off to the waiting room, fighting urges to just walk out of the office, but he knew if he didn’t go there he would never get that normal life he wanted. He sat down and tapped his foot as flashes of him clawing at something flickered through his head. He looked around, trying to focus on the here and now and started counting the people in the room to distract himself. There were twelve people in the room, yet he was supposedly the next to go in. The thought didn't sit well with him.
“How long have they been waiting? Why am I more important?” Henson whispered. He breathed slowly as he looked around, continuing to fight the urges to leave that he was feeling. No… I have to stay here.
“Mr. Phillips?” A female voice called, catching Henson’s attention as his body started to shake; a sign that he was about to shape shift uncontrollably.
Henson got up and breathed, knowing if he just got out of that place his anxiety would diminish and his shape shifting would stop threatening him. Jacinda was more attractive than Henson had anticipated and was caught off guard. He'd been expecting someone older and, well, plainer than the curvy beauty before him. He hadn’t ever really been shy around women, but he also knew that if he said or did anything wrong she could stop him from getting his life back.
Henson walked in and sat down on the comfortable leather couch even though he knew she wanted him to lay back and get comfortable; it was a stereotypical thing for a counselor to do. The counselor he had been seeing while he was still in the military had done the same,but their couch was nowhere near as comfortable. Civilian life, he thought.
“Alright Mr. Phillips, I see here that you’re suffering from PTSD?” Jacinda asked, looking up at Henson from over her black rimmed glasses. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail and with the way she was looking at Henson it made him choke up, both from a weird shyness and his anxiety skyrocketing.“It’s alright Mr. Phillips, you can talk to me about it. I’m here for you any time you need it.”
“I don’t have a problem.” Henson blurted out, “All I need is a jobcan have a normal life again. I just want to leave the… that war behind.”
“The war is over, you’re home now.” Jacinda said with a smile, “Relax, lay back and get comfortable Mr. Phillips. We need you to be at ease to calm down and tap into your memories.”
“Can’t you just sign the damn papers?” Henson asked as he felt his anxiety getting worse and worse, “I just need a normal job; that’ll help me feel better and forget the past.”
“Forgetting the past is not the point Mr. Phillips; no longer letting it get the best of you is.” Jacinda said in her sugary sweet voice; everything about her tried to be uplifting from her smile to the happy look in her eyes, but Henson just wanted to leave and go get a job.
“Tell me about your past and what about it that bothers you? I mean, there’s a reason you’re here, Mr. Phillips.”
“Call me Henson, please.” Henson said in a stern voice, “Look, I’m here because I have to get your signature on these release forms so I can go get a normal job, that’s it. Every soldier has to do this when we get back.”
“Not every soldier has to do this.” Jacinda replied, catching Henson off guard.
For a moment, Henson was dumb-struck. His superior had told him everyone had to do it. That it was just a simple formality to be released from the government's care.
Jacinda added, “Only those who show signs of needing psychiatric help.”
“And what do I need help with?” Henson asked, trying to dial back the anger he felt.
“Well for starters, you’ve got a clear anger issue. You’ve been mad at me since you walked in here and I didn’t do a thing to you.” Jacinda replied before she sighed a little and sat back in her leather chair, “Why are you so angry, Henson?”
“Because I need some ink on paper so I can get a job, being an able body isn’t enough anymore.” Henson replied.
“While I can see how that would be frustrating, I can tell that’s not what really eats at you.” Jacinda probed, “This is why you’re here Henson and if we dance around the subject you won’t make any progress.”
He sighed and looked out the window with a glare. He knew he wasn’t going to get out of there without talking about something. With a long exhale, he looked down at the floor and around at the room for a moment, clutching his hands together tightly. Finally he got up and started walking back and forth.
“I killed a lot of people…” Henson said before looking down at his hands, “I… I’m a shape shifter… they gave me orders… I… went in and… I… killed them all…”
“You had to do horrible things in war and it bothers you because you’re a good person, Henson. If that didn’t bother you then you’d need more help than I could provide. As it is, knowing that this bothers you is a good sign.” Jacinda said, leaning back in her chair before she smiled at him, “I’m also glad you opened up and told me about your past and something that’s bothering you. How often do you get flashbacks of those events?”
“Quite often, actually. Only thing that seems to drown them out is booze.” Henson said, thinking back to his last time at his favorite bar. He was becoming quite a regular, but the good counselor didn't need to know that.
“That stuff doesn’t help you, it only masks the pain.” Jacinda said as her head tilted to the side.
“That’s funny because I didn’t say anything about pain.” Henson said with a half-smile, “I could just use a drink. I’m not too thrilled with the whole ink and paper situation; it has nothing to do with this.”
“Seems like it links back to your anger issues to me.” Jacinda said as Henson pulled out his release papers and put them on her desk, “I can’t sign those, Henson. You need more sessions. I’ll see you tomorrow at the same time.”
“Can’t you just sign the papers?” Henson asked with a sigh.
"I could, yes. But it would be reckless and possibly dangerous until I really feel like you're ready for employment.” She replied without hesitation and pushed his release forms across her desk back to Henson, “What made you the way you are today didn’t happen overnight so getting you back to your happy life isn’t going to happen overnight either. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
My life has never been happy, Henson thought before he picked up his release forms and headed out, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Henson headed out of the counselor's office and lit up a cigarette. His anxiety stayed steady as he breathed out the smoke. He headed down the road for the bar knowing he needed something stronger to calm his nerves. They said he had a problem but he still didn’t see it. She said it was anger… well like she wouldn’t have her bit of anger issues when you can’t take your anger out on who caused it.
He tried not to think about those days and took another drag off his cigarette. He walked slowly, making his way down the sidewalk, weaving his way around people walking the other way. He flicked his cigarette to the ground and stepped on it without breaking stride before walking into the bar. As soon as he entered he was assaulted with sensory overload; from the harshness of the music to the loudness of the patrons. Still, he knew after two drinks, that would all fade into the background. He walked up to the bar and sat down on a stool as far away from anyone else as possible and waited for the bartender to walk up to him.
“What would you like?” The bartender asked as was cleaning out a mug.
“Just a beer… for now.” Henson replied, tossing the money onto the bar. The bartender filled the same mug up he had just cleaned out and passed it down to him full to the rim with beer.
“Thanks.”
“Why the long face, pal?” The bartender asked, “Ex-military, aren’t you?”
“How’d you know?” Henson asked, looking up at the bartender as his anxiety rose; he started getting paranoid and wondered how the guy knew he had been in the military.
“All you ex-military people always come in here with that same zoned out look in your eyes. It’s not the same look as someone here to just drown out their sorrows.” The bartender replied before he passed a shot down to Henson, “On the house, thank you for your service.”
As Henson went to catch the shot of liquor his hand made the same motion as it did when he clawed something in his bear form. A flashback of clawing a man’s head clean off ripped through Henson’s mind. He'd been trained to kill on command without asking questions, but since his release he'd been flashing back to the faces. He clutched the shot glass and squeezed it as his body tensed up from the sudden memory. He took the drink in a single swallow as a fellow patron sat next to him on the stool.
“Ah, war dogs, always takin’ up every stool at the bar.” The man said in an arrogant tone as he sat down. Henson looked over to see if the man was smiling, a sign that he was just joking but no, the man was straight faced, “What are you lookin’ at?”
“What’s your problem with the military? Without us you wouldn’t be able to run your mouth like that.” Henson said, already tensing up for a fight.
“It’s not the military and what they do that annoys me, it’s you muscle heads they pump back out of society. You all think you’re hot shit.” The guy said before tapping on the bar. The bartender slid a mug of beer over to him and Henson caught on that the man was a regular, “You all think you’re tough. you have my respect for fighting in the military but you lose it when you act like an ass.”
“Stereotyping people is a dick move.” Henson said before finishing his beer. The bartender walked up and grabbed it right away while he started to rinse and wipe it down again.
“Darren, how about a little respect for the returning soldiers, eh?” The bartender asked, looking at the other man. Henson caught the man’s name as the bartender said it and somewhat wondered if he had said it on purpose, “Leave the guy alone, will you? Go pester someone else.”
“Thanks.” Henson said after Darren walked away, “What’s that guy's problem?”
“He just goes around stirring things up until he can start a fight. One of these days he’s gonna end up finding that fight and he’s not gonna like it.” The bartender said as he refilled Henson’s beer and passed it to him, “That one’s on the house too, for dealing with Darren’s shit with a straight face and throwing it right back at him.”
Henson sat at the bar for a couple of hours that night, drinking to try to stop the thoughts from pouring through his head. After he polished off his fifth beer he thought he should get heading home. He steadied himself and got up from the stool. Just as Jacinda had said the drinks didn’t make the flashbacks go away.
He stumbled his way home, craving the solace of his warm bed and maybe some bread before that, something to soak up the booze in his belly.
Chapter Two
Henson woke up the next morning with a painful throbbing in his temples. No matter how much he drank after coming back, he always got a hangover. He got up and took a shower before he made himself a breakfast of eggs and bacon with some toast. He drank water to hydrate himself, knowing that he had another meeting with the counselor. His breakfast was delicious and settled his stomach, making him feel much better afterwards.
He discarded the little remnants of food left and looked at the clock; he had a couple of hours before his session for the day. He still hadn’t quite gotten himself around to the idea of going to psychiatric therapy. Growing up where he did, it been demonized as something only weak people did. Henson didn't feel weak.
He felt that same feeling, like he could still take it on and that it was rather ridiculo
us that he had to get a signature to get a normal job. He started getting more and more frustrated as he kept thinking about it. May as well exercise some and see if that helps the frustration.
He went down to his basement and worked out, focusing his mind on counting despite flashbacks of clawing and biting those in the line of duty. He didn’t let up and just kept focused on his workout, pushing up the weight bar as he did a bench press. He forced his mind to focus on only two things; counting and controlling his breathing. The next time Henson looked at a clock he realized that he had lost track of time and he only had an hour before his next session. He couldn’t miss a single session or he wouldn’t get Jacinda’s signature and without it he couldn’t have a normal life. All he wanted was a job he could wake up and go do every day and be a productive member of society. He needed that structure again. Not having that predictability was proving troublesome.
He made his way to the building that housed Jacinda's office and walked in. As soon as he was inside, the cool breeze of the air conditioning hit his flushed skin.