by Sky Winters
“Yeah Mom, I think that’s true. Thank you for being there for me. And Orion. This is kind of an overwhelming experience.”
“When you told me you were gay, I was worried that you would end up with a man who didn’t care about you. I haven’t had a great track record in that department after your father passed, and maybe I let my own personal biases get to me. A lot of the time, anger comes from fear. And let me tell you, I have always been very afraid for you. I want only was best for you and I’m sorry I didn’t always know how to show it.”
Lance was touched. He had never expected to hear anything like that from his mother before. But now that she had said it, and he was expecting a child, it seemed more natural than anything else might have. He was so grateful for her understanding.
A sudden pounding at the door startled Lance and his mother. Before Orion had a chance to come out to investigate, three men broke the door down and were standing in front of Lance.
“Time to die,” one of them sneered.
Lance was frozen in fear, even as his mother shouted at them to get out of her house and to leave her family alone. The man lunged toward Lance, and before he knew what was happening, he felt a surge of power rush from his abdomen to his fists, and sliced the man’s face with his hand. He gaped down at it, and saw that he had somehow shifted his hand into a bear paw.
The men were stunned, as their leader lifted himself from the ground, clutching his bleeding face and staring at Lance in disbelief.
“What the hell?” he murmured.
Suddenly, Orion was in the doorway of the kitchen, laughing. “That’s my boy,” he said, winking at Lance. Lance blushed, and soon, Orion was beating down the men that had entered the home while Lance helped his mother to her feet and ran with her to the back bedroom, locking them in while Orion finished off the intruders.
After about five minutes, the sounds of the fight grew silent, and they heard footsteps approaching. Lance stood in front of his mother, his bear claws out and ready to fight. His entire being was flooded with relief when he saw Orion open the door and smile at him.
“Nice job,” he said, hugging Lance. “Is everybody okay?”
“We’re going to be fine,” Lance’s mother said, getting to her feet and hugging both boys close to her. “Everything is going to be fine.”
Epilogue
“Open your eyes,” Orion finally said, releasing Lance’s hand. They had been walking through the woods for a while, and Lance was getting tired. The baby was due any moment now, and it was the most exercise he had gotten in two weeks, as his mother had tended to him during his pregnancy.
“Oh my god, Orion! What is this?”
Lance was shocked by the beauty of the cabin that stood before him, and Orion beamed proudly.
“Surprise.”
Lance was overwhelmed with emotion and tears sprang to his eyes. “I had no idea… So this is what you’ve been working on for the past two weeks!”
Orion grinned. “It’s for us. For our family.”
Lance’s heart swelled with pride and he embraced Orion. Their lips met in a passionate kiss, and when they finally broke apart, Orion led Lance inside.
“Your mother thought it would be a good idea for us to have a place of our own. She knows we’ll be there to take care of her too, but since she’s gotten better and even been going on dates with Dr. Daniel, things have been looking up for her.”
“Yeah,” Lance breathed, fingering the intricate carvings that Orion had done throughout the walls of the cabin. “This is so gorgeous!”
“I’m glad you like it.”
A sudden pang in the abdomen made Lance buckle over and Orion’s eyes widened.
“Are you okay? Shit, I knew I shouldn’t have made you walk so far!”
“No,” Lance said, laughing through the tears streaming down his face. “The baby is coming.”
“Oh!” Orion’s eyes widened and he burst into a flurry of activity. He led Lance immediately to the bedroom and stripped him down, retrieving hot water and towels.
“Are you okay?” Orion asked, fear in his dark eyes.
“It will be over before we know it,” Lance said, strained with pain.
And it was.
After a few painful contractions, Orion was holding a beautiful baby boy in his arms. He was the tiniest baby Lance had ever seen, and soon Orion was in bed beside them, holding them both with tears of joy streaming down his rugged face.
The next few weeks were the happiest Lance had ever experienced. Orion was the perfect father, and soon brought Lance’s mother to the cabin for a visit with her new grandchild.
Lance was overwhelmed. He had spent the past ten years feeling more lonely than he had ever felt in his life. He felt like he had no family to speak of, and really struggled with the idea of having love of any kind in his life.
But now, after being back in Winston for less than two months, he was living the complete opposite. Not only was his mother more accepting and loving than she had ever been before, but he had found Orion and they had settled their differences. He was left with the most rugged and masculine of protectors, and the most tender and powerful of lovers.
Most surprising of all, he had grown life inside of his own body and brought it into the world, creating a bond unlike anything he had ever known before. He had never been more satisfied and happy in his life.
“A toast,” Lance exclaimed over dinner with his mother and lover. “To family.”
“To family,” they all agreed, raising their glasses in the air. The baby was sleeping in a bassinette beside the table and wouldn’t be due for another feeding for at least an hour.
Orion caught his eye from across the table and they shared a secret grin. As usual, he seemed to know exactly what he was thinking.
“Everything is perfect,” he said softly. And it was.
Highlander Romance
Time of the Werebears
“And to the left you'll see a portrait of Lord Lachlan, who ruled with an iron fist. He had a deep intolerance for Highland rebels and pushed for their total annihilation. In the display case to your right is his sword, which shed the blood of countless Highland men, women, and even children, though some were taken in to be re-cultured in the ways of the crown.”
Studying the blade sent a shiver down Sadie McNeil's spine. She was enjoying the tour of her family's castle, and although her heritage trip had just begun, she couldn't wait to see what might happen next. She hoped to learn about her distant family's history as much as possible. The guide spoke on about Lord Lachlan, painting a vivid image of the tyrant in her mind. She could imagine the man's stern face in battle, his eyes narrow and ready to spill the blood of anybody who dared defy him. A series of his portraits lined the walls, and by the time they reached the end of the hallway, she was sure she wouldn't have liked him.
Suddenly, she thought she heard somebody yelling her name. A faraway echo made her turn, her heart thudding rapidly. Where had it come from? Nobody here knew her; she had traveled alone. She looked around the group; nobody else seemed to have heard it.
“Sadie!” it called again. She heard it clearly this time, a man's voice; urgent and afraid. She broke away from the group, following the sound of her name. Everybody else was engrossed in Lord Lachlan's sword. She looked around for the man who seemed to know who she was. She walked slowly, staying close to the wall where the paintings hung proudly in a line. Suddenly, the man's voice seemed to be right in her ear, an intimate breathiness that brought a shiver down her spine. She turned to her right and, to her surprise, found herself gazing right into her own face. At first she thought she had encountered a mirror, but quickly noted the frame, and theother people surrounding her. Somehow, her likeness had been captured in the middle of an ancient painting.
She backed away as if the portrait was on fire, clutching at her heart, and then stared again. That was her all right, right down to the mole on her left cheek, and the fiery red curls that she pulled back into a
braid. But how could it be? Surely it was just some ancient ancestor. Still, the resemblance was uncanny. She wondered if her mother had ever noticed.
Sadie studied the painting more closely, holding back the urge to touch it. The woman, who looked identical to Sadie, was standing next to the fierce Lord Lachlan. The tour guide caught up with her and began telling of the painting's history.
“Here we see Lord Lachlan with his wife, just before the execution of a particularly meddlesome Highland rebel. You see, he is holding the sword from the display case. Lord Lachlan liked to dispose of the rebels himself, told his troops to keep them alive until he dealt with them personally.”
The group moved away from the painting, but Sadie stayed rooted in one spot. She was suddenly overpowered by an intense nausea, and she ran out of the room, desperate to get away from the image of the terrible man and her doppelganger, standing mournfully beside him.
She raced down the hallway, turning a corner and pausing to catch her breath. She had been seized by a momentary panic, but if she could just distract herself, maybe she would feel better. Her eyes wandered to the painting in front of her – a group of muscular men scowling and attacking three large bears head-on. The absurdity of the image made her burst out in laughter. The sound of her own voice comforted her, and she took a deep breath. It was reasonable to be uncomfortable; the painting in the other room probably didn't actually look that much like her. She had just been under a lot of stress lately with the divorce looming over her head. Most people wouldn't be holding up anywhere near as well as she was under the same circumstances. Her entire life had just been turned upside down.
She was filled with anger as memories of her soon-to-be ex-husband's infidelity penetrated her. She had trusted him more than she had trusted anybody. Maybe that was because he was a solid, reliable type, whose wandering eye had been carefully concealed behind his thick glasses and gentle smile. He hadn't been particularly exciting. In fact, the most her heart had raced for him was in the anger after discovering that he had been cheating on her with any woman who pitied him enough to sleep with him. He had made her out to be some sort of insufferable hag, never having time for him because she was so busy with her own career.
“You know those types of women,” he would have said to his conquests. Independent. The kinds of women who said they didn't want kids and meant it, or who made sure they had their own bank accounts to rely on. Terrible wives and mothers, the lot of them, according to common knowledge. He had been distressed when she asked him to wait to start a family until she was more settled into her career and held it over her head any chance she got. The most unfair part about it was that, yes, she did want kids. She just wanted to wait to feel more settled and fulfilled first. But he had taken it and ran as a reason to resent her. He certainly felt justified in destroying her trust and their marriage. Stupid Alfred. Good riddance to him anyway.
But she was in Scotland to forget about all of that. She wandered absently into the first doorway she saw. She peered into the dim room, realizing that it probably wasn't scheduled to be on any part of the tour. In fact, she was surprised the door wasn't locked. Inside, the haggard green curtains were drawn, letting only small streams of sunlight in to illuminate the old antiques strewn recklessly about, as if somebody had been rummaging through it, discarding what they didn't deem useful. Broken glass cracked under her feet as she peered onto tables and shelves, fingering old relics of the past that were within arm's reach and not partitioned away from her through a glass box.
She suddenly saw an intriguing glimmer of gold, glinting tantalizingly from beneath a fallen stack of old musty papers. She pushed the papers gently away and lifted a primitive-looking necklace from the rickety wooden table. Her eyes roamed the intricate but simple designs carved into the gold. She looked around the room, making sure she was alone before draping the long chain over her delicate neck.
As soon as the pendant touched her breast, she crumpled to the ground, and the world went black.
Chapter 2
She was falling, swirling. She felt her body being lifted and contorted in ways she had never before imagined it could move. Alfred, the divorce, jetlag, a lifetime's worth of difficulties. She seemed to re-live it all within the darkness of the portal. By the time it was done, she was filled with peace, but she was so exhausted that she felt herself being pulled into the depths of a powerful, rejuvenating sleep.
But that didn't last long. A loud, muffled call from the hallway roused her from her slumber, and she looked up with a start. Her eyes narrowed in confusion. She was in the same room, but everything was different. The curtains were no longer tattered; they were crisp and beautiful, letting in a cheerful ray of golden sunlight. None of the old antiques were scattered about. She recognized some of them, sitting in perfect condition, like new, on a handsomely carved shelf. She sat up in confusion, and her eyes widened. Hanging in front of her was an elegant wedding dress.
Before she could register what was happening, the door burst open and a woman's rosy face beamed up at her. She was wearing a white apron around her plump body and carrying a tray with a glass of water and a spool of thread on it.
“Well, go on, dear, try the dress on. We have a couple of mends left to do but you're going to be fine. Lord Lachlan doesn't like to be kept waiting. We have to hurry. He's getting anxious to have you as his bride.”
“Lord Lachlan? But...”
“Come along, dear, you look absolutely beautiful in this dress.”
“That's not my dress!” she exclaimed, suddenly panicked. She had no idea what was going on, and her face must have betrayed her confusion, because the servant approached her and gave her arm a reassuring pat.
“Are you feeling all right?” she asked.
No, she wasn't feeling all right. How did she get here? What was happening? How could she possibly marry such a tyrant? Even if this was a terrible dream, she refused to be shackled to the horrible monster.
“I can't marry him,” she said, gripping the table beside her, suddenly unsteady.
“But you must!” the servant said, her bubbly face now contorting in fear. “You don't know what he will do to you if you refuse.”
“I don't care what he does to me, I have to get out of here right away!”
“Listen to me. You cannot run from Lord Lachlan. He is capable of great terror – if you run he will find you and kill you, track you like a dog, he will! And not just you, lass. He'll wage war on your family for generations, find them and kill them, too. Just stay put, dear, you're far better off being his wife than his enemy.”
“I don't see the difference,” Sadie said somberly.
How had she gotten here? She closed her eyes and brought her hand to her forehead. There had to be an explanation. She was a smart and reasonable woman. Somebody was probably playing a trick on her. Maybe her playful cousins had followed her to Ireland and decided to give her a heart attack – it would be just like them to think it would be just what she needed to get out of her slump. She waited for them to come in and tell her everything was going to be okay, or hear the familiar cackling of pleased jokesters, but nothing happened.
The servant fretfully left the room, begging her to put the dress on and promising not to tell Lord Lachlan what she had said. She felt guilty for upsetting the woman so deeply, but there was nothing much to be done about it. Especially not if she was just an actor in her cousin's prank. She was left alone in the room, and she began rummaging around, looking for any explanation for what was happening to her. She opened a drawer, digging through it quickly. She hissed and pulled her slender hand out. A jewel-encased blade had sliced her finger, leaving a thin red line of blood.
She was staring thoughtfully at the dagger when the door to the room burst open, and suddenly in front of her was the man from the paintings, in the flesh. Suddenly he was pressing into her from behind and cackling, his voice a lot coarser and his body a whole lot smellier than she imagined he would be. She pulled away from hi
s embrace and he grinned. His dark eyes followed her, his pockmarked face sneering in satisfaction. He seemed to have her exactly where he wanted her.
“There's my lovely wife Sadie,” he said, moving uncomfortably close to her. “I see you haven't undressed yet. You must be needing some help with that.”
He put his meaty hand on her shoulder, letting his forearm brush against her breasts as he moved to unfasten her dress. If this was really one of her cousin's jokes, it had just stopped being funny.
“Best get to it, I won't be having my wife leave everybody waiting around while she drags her heels.”
He eyed her up and down, laughing as she pulled away. He was staring into her eyes now, the leer on his face nauseating and infuriating her.
“In fact, don't think I'd mind a sample taste right here and now. The priests won't know any different, will they? After all, you’re my own wife.”
He tried to push her down onto the bed, but Sadie broke free from his grasp and ducked into the drawer, pulling the dagger out. Lord Lachlan blanched and backed away from her. His beady eyes roamed from the serious expression on her face, down to the pendant resting on her breast, to the dagger in her trembling hand.