by Olivia Arran
When she didn’t reply, I peeled one lid open. She was staring at me with her mouth wide open, her eyes showing a lot more white than was healthy. Her hands laid in her lap, clasped together hard enough that the knuckles had paled.
“I swear I’m telling you the truth, kid. It’s why I had to hide who I really was, not just from you, but from the world. I’d retired from the public eye; Ralph Everson was no more.”
“But … he was. He’s you. You still had your restaurants, I even ate in one of them just before I met you. No more than fifteen years old. I remember it because I’d begged my father to take me for my birthday. A special treat. I wanted to taste your food, to understand why everyone raved about it. He never mentioned that he knew you.”
“Your father understood my need for privacy.”
“Surely people recognized you…”
“I grew my hair out, added stubble and gained a tan. Ditched the fancy shirts and designer labels. It’s amazing what people see when they don’t think something’s possible. No one ever asked, because that would have been crazy, right?”
Her mouth snapped shut with an audible click, her eyes narrowing until she stared at me as though trying to read my mind. “You’re serious? This story you’ve just told me, that’s what you’re going with?” No sooner had she spat the words out, she’d lurched to her feet, waving me away when I followed suit. “I thought you were actually going to tell me the truth, for once. I’m a fool.”
Sidestepping, I blocked her escape. Locking my arms by my sides, I regarded the trembling woman in front of me, the woman I’d sworn never to hurt again. “I was supposed to leave the city when I retired, but I couldn’t. Even though it meant risking everything. Ask me why. Ask me, dammit!” I wasn’t beyond pleading, not with her. If she wanted me on my knees, then all she had to do was say the word and I was there.
Her eyes flashed, sparking in the light as she curled her arms around herself. “Okay, I’ll play along. Why?”
“Because of you. I couldn’t leave you. Someone could have put a gun to my head and I still wouldn’t have left.”
Her eyes widened, her arms dropping to her sides. “Me?”
“You’re my true mate. The second I saw you, I knew we were meant to be together.”
“Wait, what?”
I took a deep breath, bracing myself. “I’m a shifter, sweetheart. A man that can turn into an animal—a bear, specifically.”
She stumbled back, her hands coming up as if to ward off the crazy. “What the hell are you talking about? I thought you were going to be straight with me, for once.”
“When I said I was one hundred and fifteen years old, I wasn’t kidding. It’s one of the perks of being a shifter.”
She made a strangled sound, her eyes darting around the room. “You can’t expect me to actually believe this…” Her words died off, her hands coming to rest by her sides. “You’re actually serious? You believe that you can turn into a bear?” Panic had dissolved into a softness I was fast recognizing as pity.
Only one thing for it. Pulling up my t-shirt, I yanked it over my head and let it drop to the floor. My hands went to my waistband, popping the buttons one by one.
Her eyes widened, her throat working as she swallowed hard. “What are you doing?”
“Showing you.”
“Wait!” The panic was back.
My hands froze, my thumbs tucking into my waistband. “Really? You’re more bothered about me getting naked than finding out whether I’m telling you the truth?”
Eyes traveling over my body, she skimmed my chest, lingering over my stomach, before skipping back up to my face. Grabbing her forearm, she rubbed her thumb back and forth, her body vibrating with tension. “I’m used to you not telling me the truth.”
“But you’re not used to seeing me naked?” I finished for her. “How can I prove it to you otherwise?”
“No, that’s not it.”
My lips twisted at her soft denial, pain clawing inside my chest. But this time, it wasn’t my bear. It was my heart shredding into pieces, the thin thread of hope obliterated. “You despise the thought of seeing me naked that much?” I had half a mind to do it anyway. At least that way she could take a good look at what she was turning down.
I’d ragged on my brother Craig for years about the fact that he couldn’t satisfy a woman, that his curse had left him alone and broken. But at least his mate had wanted him enough to stake her claim, to make sure no other woman could have him. My mate couldn’t even bear to look at me, and I couldn’t—wouldn’t—look at another.
Fate was a bitch.
Unwilling to let her see, I turned away, hiding what I knew must be clear on my face. “I’ll see you downstairs,” I muttered, willing her to go. To give me time to lick my wounds and rebuild the wall around my heart. The wall that the fire had torn down.
“Ralph—”
Refusing to look at her, I waved her away, bending over and picking up my t-shirt. “It’s fine. I understand.”
“I believe you,” she whispered in a voice so small, it was a damn good job I was a shifter.
Stiffening, I closed my eyes as the warmth of her olive branch seeped into my soul. She was choosing to trust me. “I can still show you. I’ll leave the room—”
Her hand pressed against my back, cutting me off. “You’ve got to understand; I don’t forgive you for what you did. I can’t.”
It burned, her skin against mine. The feel of her touching me, after going so long without it. “I know.” And I couldn’t tell her anymore. Wouldn’t. “But … I need to know; why do you believe me?”
“Because it makes sense. My father knew you, called you by your name.” She paused, her breathing heavy in the silent room. “It didn’t make sense until now. He shouldn’t have known you. Then, there’s the stories about the Everson brothers, whispers and rumors. Little things that didn’t make sense.”
I turned around, fast enough that her hands slid from my back to my front, bringing my hand up and pressing it over hers. “He loved you very much.” It wasn’t much, but it was all I could give her.
“At the end he didn’t say much, drifting in and out of consciousness as his heart struggled to carry on, but he did mutter from time to time. It didn’t make any sense, but it does now.”
Shit. “What did he say?” Had the old man revealed our secrets? Had I gone through all this for nothing? Would I now be freed from the vow I had made?
“He talked about a bear. Called him a friend.” She said it simply with a wry smile. “It was you.”
“Nothing else?”
“No. Just the bear and how he would look after me. How the bear would guard me when he was gone.” Moisture glimmered in her eyes, a tear spilling over and rolling down her cheek.
“Connie—”
“But, he had to be wrong. He was dying, he didn’t know what he was saying. You betrayed us.”
“I—”
She yanked her hand away, swiping at her cheek. “No. His final wish was for me to never believe a word you said. He warned me, dammit! Made me promise!” She screamed the words in a voice hoarse with unspent emotion, anguish sparking in her eyes.
He made me promise, too. To never reveal his secrets and to protect you … which is what I’m doing now. Biting my tongue, I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her into me.
Her fists came up between us, pushing and beating at my chest, her fingers digging in as she shuddered against me. No cries or broken sobs for my mate, she was silent in her grief. Time had passed, she had mourned her father, but this wasn’t for him.
This was for the promise she hadn’t kept. She believed me.
A sniffle, her warm breath dusting my skin, then, she pushed away. Scrubbing at her eyes, she sent me a watery smile. “It’s not that I despise the thought.”
It took a second, then I got it. Me. Naked. “Then, what?”
Sidestepping, she walked to the door, pausing to give me a weak shrug. “It’s that I might no
t.” Then she was gone, her footsteps fading as she made her way downstairs.
Might not. Despise me naked.
Hope surged back to life.
Chapter Nine
Connie
A bear… I made my way downstairs and into the kitchen, strangely calm despite the fantastical conversation I’d just been a part of. The logical side of my brain shouted in denial, but there were too many unexplained things to just dismiss his claim. He hadn’t aged. My father had mentioned a bear guarding me—Ralph had certainly watched over me, despite my constant encouragement not to. There was a hell of a lot of bear sightings around Craggstone, more than usual, but none in the town center. No accidents or incidents. The Everson brothers’ love of the forest. The odd snippet of conversation overheard over the years. It all added up.
Not to mention … just look at him. He was huge. He had muscles that really should require living in a gym. Huge. Did I say that already? Flashing bronze eyes. Growly voice. Big hands. Did that mean he had big paws? The giggle escaped, echoing around the room.
The sous-chef glanced over at me, his hands not pausing as they chopped and diced vegetables for tonight’s service.
“Do you need a hand?” I needed something to take my mind off things, to give myself time to process everything, and there was nothing like baking or cooking.
“Nope. Everything’s just about done.” He scraped his knife across the counter, sliding the vegetables into a large pot that he held ready.
The bubble of anticipation popped. “Everything?”
This earned me a second glance. “I haven’t prepped the third dessert yet.”
Grabbing the metaphorical carrot he was dangling in front of my nose, I grabbed an apron and tied it on. “What is it?”
“Cherry muffins.” Ralph’s voice came from behind me.
The sous-chef had his poker face down to a work of art.
“Muffins? For the restaurant?”
“Sure.” He strolled into the kitchen, checking various pots and pans with a satisfied nod. “Everyone will be pining for some of your baked goods, since you’re temporarily out of business. Why not give them what they want?”
“What you want, you mean.”
Picking up a spoon, he dipped it into a bubbling pan, scooping out some liquid. Blowing across the top, he brought the spoon to his mouth. “A touch more salt,” he muttered, sprinkling some in. “Ah, yeah, I did say I liked your muffins, didn’t I?” Selecting another spoon, he scooped up another sample and beckoned me over. “Taste the soup. Tell me what you think.”
Curious, I mooched over. He brought the spoon to my lips, his hand hovering to catch any drips. Tomato and basil exploded on my tongue, tangy and fresh, with a smoky undercurrent. “It’s good,” I groaned, catching the spoon off him and sucking it into my mouth. “Pancetta?”
“Yup.” His smirk was wide enough to park his sensible car in. “Thanks, Tony. I’ll see you tonight.”
The sous-chef finished washing his hands and tugged his apron off. “Sounds good, boss. We’ve got a full house again.”
“Life’s good.”
Tony nodded, his eyes sliding to assess me with a wicked glint. “Have fun, you two.” Then he sauntered off, whistling a jaunty tune.
We were alone. I smoothed my hands down the apron, refusing to let them knot together like they wanted to. I was calm. Cool. Professional. “I think I’ll get started on my taster menu for Amy.”
“I thought you were going to bake some cherry muffins?” It was almost an indignant whine.
Waving the spoon at him, I couldn’t help but smile. “No. You want me to bake for you.”
“Come on. It can’t be that hard.”
The spoon froze in mid air, my eyebrows inching up toward my hairline. “Really? Then why don’t you make a batch?”
“I think I will.” Not bothering with an apron, he selected flour from the shelf, casting his eyes around for the other ingredients.
I tapped my foot, loud enough for him to hear. “Do you even remember what goes in a muffin batter?”
“Of course I do, though if at any point you find yourself wanting to help out…” He reached for the baking powder, adding it to the growing pile of ingredients. “There you go.”
“You’re missing something.”
He double checked his pile. “No, I don’t think I am.”
“Two things, actually.”
Pulling a pained expression, he held out his hands. “See? I need your help.”
“I’m not fooled for one minute,” I replied, but I walked over and grabbed an egg from the shelf, placing it on the counter next to him. “Is that why you smell so good?” I clamped a hand over my mouth, but it was too late. The words were out there.
He’d been staring at his ingredients, pulling a face, but at my outrageous question his frown cleared. “You think I smell good?”
“No. I… Just…” I wafted the air. With the ovens on, it sure was hot in here.
He turned back to the counter, measuring out flour. “Scent is important to a shifter. We have heightened senses—sight, sound, smell. Each person has a scent that is individual to them, part of their identity.”
Our arms bumped and I resisted jumping away. I’d edged closer, not even realizing it. “Fascinating. So, you’ve always been a … shifter?” I nearly tripped over the word, hardly able to believe we were actually discussing this out loud.
Portioning out some of the flour, he added the sugar and mixed, tossing in lumps of butter and working them in. “We’re born this way. As a child, I had paws as often as I had hands.”
“Your family are all…”
“Yup.”
“That explains a lot,” I mused, transfixed by the way he was working the mixture, his biceps bunching and curling. “Wait! Does Amy know?”
“That she’s mated to a shifter? She kind of has to, for it to work.”
“Mated,” I echoed, rolling the word around and trying it on for size. “How does it work?”
“That’s a big question.” Setting the bowl aside, he dragged the milk, egg, and oil over.
“You know exactly what you’re doing,” I pointed out.
“I’m out of practice,” he drawled with a small smile. “They say that shifters were created by the Goddess—Mother Nature—and that when she paired a person with a beast, she also created another, binding their souls together. True mates are two souls that fit together. When they find each other, they are joined together again through the soul bond.” He dumped the dried ingredients into the bubbly mixture, added the salt and baking powder, and gave it a perfunctory stir.
Setting my elbows on the counter, I rested my chin in my hands. “It sounds like a fairytale.”
“It’s real. All my brothers have found their mates. My parents have been together for over a century.”
“A century?”
“We live for a long time. When a shifter mates with a human, their lifespan is extended too.” He set the bowl down, grabbing a muffin tray off a shelf.
Taking pity on him, I leaned back, fished behind me, and popped the punnet of cherries on the counter next to him. “They’re not going to be very good without the cherries.”
“See. I told you I needed you.” His words were light, but the look in his eyes was dark and enticing, his words whispering in my ears.
Grabbing a handful of cherries and a knife, I sliced and diced. An avoidance tactic, I’d readily admit it, but all his answers had only stirred up more unanswered questions. More confusion. “My father knew about you? What you were?”
“He did. He kept my secret.”
Something snapped inside of me. “Why didn’t you say anything? Maybe, if you’d explained at the time, then we could have talked and—”
“You would have forgiven me? Really? Connie, I stole your father’s business out from under him, dated his daughter without his permission or knowledge, and he had a heart attack. Because of me. Even if I’d told you I was a shifter, it wouldn
’t have made a blind bit of difference. You were never going to forgive me, not then.” His voice was devoid of emotion, a blank recital of events that had destroyed me.
Destroyed us.
In my heart I knew he was right. But, I realized with a start, I didn’t hate him anymore. The burning sense of betrayal that had festered inside of me, fed year after year with the bitter reminder that even those you thought you loved, couldn’t be trusted. Now, all I felt was sadness. And a gaping hole of emptiness. “Then why tell me now?”
“Because you deserve to know why I can’t let you go.”
My pulse was jumping because of the warning, not because I wanted him to claim me like a caveman. That was it. Had to be.
He continued, oblivious to the war going on inside of me—emotions that I had thought destroyed for good were roaring back to life and making a bid for control, “You were never meant to be hurt, that wasn’t the plan. If I could go back, I’d never have agreed to it. But, it’s done. He’s gone, we’re not.”
I set the knife down. “I—I can’t.” My head swam; he wasn’t making any sense.
“You’re my true mate, darling.” He wasn’t pleading, he wasn’t even looking at me, his hand curled around a handful of cherries, scarlet juices flowing through his fingers.
“That doesn’t mean anything, not to me.”
His hands clamped onto my hips, fingers digging in and securing me against him as his mouth crashed down against mine in a kiss that had tingles racing over my skin. Hot and hard, he bent me back, pushing me against the counter, his hips pressing the thick outline of his shaft against my soft stomach. Our breath stuttered, mingling, merging together as his lips brushed and caressed, his stubble scratching my chin, his chest dragging against my aching breasts. His tongue lashed out, taking advantage of my momentary lapse, tangling with mine on a low groan. He tasted of mint and cherries, with a hint of smoke. Exactly as I remembered.
Which wasn’t hard, since he’d been the last man I’d kissed. The only man I’d ever wanted, enough that it physically hurt, the pain deep and throbbing inside of me, calling to him, begging for him to satisfy it.