Bad Blood Bear (Bad Blood Shifters Book 1)

by Anastasia Wilde

  She shivered, and he cupped her, kneading the nipple that was already hard. When he took it in his mouth and sucked it, she made one of those sexy noises again.

  “Your breasts are beautiful,” he murmured. They were round and pert, and so responsive to his touches and kisses. He kissed and licked until he was satisfied, and she was moaning under his hands. Then he let his fingers trail down her belly, sliding outside her panties and circling her clit, excited at how wet she was for him.

  Her hips bucked, and he touched her lightly, loving the way she arched toward him, wanting more.

  He circled her clit again, teasing it, his eyes intent on her every move, learning what made her gasp and squirm. Her thighs opened for him, exposing her warm pussy, the scent of arousal intoxicating.

  He pulled her panties off and tossed them aside. Then he kissed his way up her leg until he reached her soft creamy thigh. He bit her lightly, and when she moaned in excitement, he alternated kisses and bites all the way up until he reached her hot center, and drew his tongue up her pussy in one long, broad stroke.

  “Oh, please, do that again,” she whimpered.

  Tank did it again, and again, feeling her go wild underneath him. He sucked her clit, swirling it with his tongue, and ate her pussy until he felt her muscles clench and she climaxed around him.

  And still he wasn’t sated. His bear was humming, wanting her, wanting her with a wildness he’d never experienced. He wanted to stop being gentle, to fuck her hard, make her scream his name as she came over and over again.

  Not yet, his bear told him. Not yet.

  Tank rolled over onto his back and pulled Lissa on top of him. She straddled him, his dick between her slick lips. She teased him, sliding up and down, base to tip until he moaned.

  “I want to be inside you,” he ground out. “I want to fuck you so bad.”

  She smiled down at him, her hair in a tangle and her breasts looking good enough to eat. She leaned down and kissed him, deep, and he wrapped his arms around her and held her to him. “Tease,” he muttered against her mouth.

  She laughed and bit his lower lip, not quite hard enough to draw blood. His bear growled, loving it. “Bitey,” he said. “Sexy.”

  She grinned at him, then rose up off him and positioned his cock at her entrance. She lowered herself slowly down, sheathing him, and he groaned at the feel of it.

  Lissa wanted to die with ecstasy as Tank’s huge cock filled and stretched her. She went slow, rocking her hips, and he closed his eyes with the intensity of it.

  He was making her feel like no one ever had. His scent, his touch, was fulfilling her in a way that had never happened before.

  When he filled her completely, she rested her hands on his chest and raised her hips, then slowly let him slide inside her and fill her again. She kept up the slow rhythm, letting the feeling build.

  He gazed into her eyes, watching her, his eyes going half-lidded with pleasure every time she bore down on him and he was buried inside her. His hips moved with the rhythm, thrusting as she moved, and she wished she could just stay like this forever.

  Gradually, the rhythm grew faster, and she could feel her climax building. Tank was gasping, thrusting harder, holding onto her hips. He moved one hand so his thumb was on her clit, stroking it with every thrust.

  Oh. My. God. Lissa threw her head back, the feeling so overwhelming she could hardly stand it. Tank was creating the rhythm now, holding her back, each thrust and touch such an exquisite pleasure it was almost pain.

  It went on and on until she lost track of time, of herself, of everything except the feel and scent and heat of his skin. Finally, he deepened his thrusts, stroking her clit faster and harder until her orgasm exploded.

  Tank pulled her down against his chest and wrapped one hand around her ass, thrusting into her harder and harder, groaning, bracing his heels against the mattress. Lissa’s orgasm went on and on, building again, until he tensed and she felt his cock pulsing inside her, and he held her hips against his with every pulse, drawing wave after wave of ecstasy from her body and soul.

  Afterwards he lay curled around her, stroking his fingers down the side of her neck, across her shoulders, tracing the lines of her collarbone, as if he couldn’t get enough of her.

  Lissa wanted to burrow inside him and just stay there forever, safe and warm. But she couldn’t, because he couldn’t ever have another mate. And she could never be like Angie, someone who just loved him and was uncomplicated.

  But her heart ached with wishing it could be.

  After a while he got up and got a towel, wiping himself off and cleaning her gently. Then he tucked her underneath the covers and climbed in next to her, snuggling up to her again and stroking her back.

  She said to him, “You told me you have a lot of tiny house sketches. Are they private? Or could I see them?”

  His hands stilled, and he hesitated a moment. Then he said, “You really want to? I haven’t shown them to anyone.”

  That made her want to see them even more. If she couldn’t have his heart, she wanted to be the only one he shared his secret dream with. That was almost as good.

  He dropped a kiss on the top of her head, and then rolled over and leaned out of bed to grab a sketchbook off the long low shelf under the window.

  “This is it,” he said.

  He pushed up until he was leaning against the headboard, and pillow at his back. He pulled Lissa to him, tucking her underneath his arm so she could lean against his chest.

  The he opened the book.

  Lissa gasped. The sketches were captivating. Fairy-tale cottages, tiny Victorian houses complete with turrets, a tiny castle, a gypsy wagon, and a mini cathedral with tiny gargoyles at the corners. Each one was more charming than the last, with stained-glass windows, pointed doors, and other exquisite details.

  “Oh my gosh, I want to live in every single one of them,” Lissa breathed. “Can I have them? Please?”

  Tank grinned. “How are you planning to live in all of them?”

  Lissa leaned back against him. “I’m going to have a different one for every day of the week,” she said. “Monday will be castle day. Tuesday will be gingerbread cottage day. Wednesday is gypsy day. And of course the cathedral is for Sundays, and I will be very grave and pious, except when people annoy me—like Xander—and then I’ll send the gargoyles after them. It’ll be awesome.”

  Tank was laughing, a comfortable rumble in his chest. “And how am I supposed to run a business if I’m spending all my time building you a fleet of tiny houses?”

  “You’ll figure it out,” Lissa said. “I have faith in you.”

  She continued to turn pages. “Seriously, though, you could make a fortune selling these,” she said. “People would come from all over the country, I bet. Especially with the quality of craftsmanship I’ve seen in the one I’m living in.”

  “I don’t know,” Tank said. “Custom ones like this would take a lot of time. I’m not sure if I could turn them out fast enough to make a profit. One of the reasons people like tiny houses is that they’re inexpensive.”

  Lissa said, “Couldn’t you make a few basic models that could be finished to people’s taste? You could train Sloan to help you. He likes to work with his hands.”

  Tank leaned back and looked down at her. “He does?”

  “Silly bear,” Lissa said. “Of course he does. Who do you think Xander is stealing your stuff for? Sloan is too scared to ask Flynn for anything, and he’s scared to steal it himself.”

  “Xander does that for Sloan? I didn’t even think they liked each other.”

  Lissa smacked him. “You should talk to your crew once in a while. Find out what they want out of life.”

  Tank shrugged uncomfortably. “Flynn’s the alpha. That’s his job.”

  Lissa said, “Flynn drinks too much, and he’s not sure he wants to be alpha. Somebody needs to help him. After all, he was tortured too. He has to be dealing with stuff.”

  She knew Flynn
was dealing with his own demons, and it was hard on a crew when the leader was too preoccupied with his own mess to deal with the others’. She’d never been a shifter before, but she’d been in crews on the street, and it couldn’t be that different.

  Tank grew thoughtful and quiet. Lissa didn’t say anything more. She knew that Flynn relied on Tank more than he wanted to admit, but Tank needed to decide if he was going to go all-in with this crew.

  Or go back to Georgia.

  Lissa didn’t want to think about that. She had to keep Tank here. This was where he belonged.

  This crew needed to become a real crew, and Flynn needed to be a real alpha. Maybe then Tank would realize that this was where his future lay.

  Chapter 26

  The next morning, Tank woke up to find Lissa already in the shower. He went to join her, which made the shower take an unreasonably long time, and caused Xander to start catcalling outside the door.

  Fuck it, there was no privacy anywhere.

  Lissa didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she seemed pleased that the others were all gathered in the main cabin for breakfast. Flynn was making pancakes, and Flynn’s pancakes were legendary.

  Jasmin never cooked in the morning—she stayed up half the night roaming the forest, and if she showed up in the mornings at all, it was to sit in the corner and drink coffee and snarl at anyone who tried to talk to her. This morning she was curled up in one of the big leather armchairs, her hair over her face, drinking a latte from the built-in espresso machine.

  Xander walked by her and stopped. “Whoa, Kitty,” he said. “Where’d you get those scratches? Get into it with a mountain lion last night?”

  Jasmin hissed at him. “Do you want your balls stuffed up your nostrils?”

  Xander put up his hands and stepped back, grinning. “I hope you haven’t been trespassing on the Nashville pack’s territory, Kitty,” he said. “The dogs don’t like it.”

  “Park land’s open to everybody,” Jasmin said. “Long as there’s no bodies, no harm, no foul.”

  “So where’d you hide the bodies?” Sloan asked.

  Everybody laughed, and Jasmin gave him the finger.

  Flynn gave Jasmin a sideways look, hands busy flipping pancakes. Tank knew he didn’t want Jasmin causing trouble with the Nashville wolf pack—things were already tense ever since one of them had led an attack on their crew and nearly killed them all.

  But the occasional brawl wasn’t against anyone’s rules, so he was letting it slide. For now.

  Because he didn’t want to get into it? Or because he was afraid Jasmin wouldn’t obey him, and he’d lose what little authority he had?

  Maybe Lissa was right. Maybe it was time they did become a real crew. Things were too unsettled, the way they were.

  Lissa, however, had decided not to wait. Just as everyone was digging into their pancakes, she said, “I think we should have a Thanksgiving celebration.”

  Everyone turned and stared at her.

  “Um, why?” Xander said.

  Lissa rolled her eyes. “Because that’s what everybody does in the whole United States of America, dork,” she said. “I’ve always wanted to get up on Thanksgiving morning and lie on the living room floor in my pajamas and watch the Macy’s Day parade. And make a turkey and eat myself stupid and then argue with my imaginary family over whether we’re going to watch football on TV, or a figure skating special.”

  “Hockey,” Xander said immediately.

  “I think there’s a MacGyver marathon on,” Sloan put in. “The real one, not that lame-ass remake.”

  “I like MacGyver,” Tank said, trying to help Lissa out. It wasn’t such a bad idea, really. Anything with food was a hit with the crew. “And I like hockey. And turkey.”

  He tried to steal a piece of bacon off Lissa’s plate while she was distracted, and she smacked him with her fork. He winked at her.

  “You do get that Thanksgiving is tomorrow, right?” Jasmin said in her gravelly voice. “And football is nonnegotiable. Not to mention that if anybody’s cooking a turkey here, it’s me. I’ve always wanted to try doing one on the grill.”

  She gave Lissa a baleful look. “But I hate Thanksgiving.”

  “Me too,” Xander said. “Maybe you’re all bummed out because you never had a happy Thanksgiving, but some of us would rather not think about families. Or the past. Or holidays. Or—”

  “Oh, shut the fuck up and go back up your jungle tree, python bait,” Lissa said, shocking everyone. “Or I’ll change as far as I can and slap you with my bear claws.”

  Flynn stopped cooking long enough to give her a long, slow look, and Jasmin grinned, wincing as it pulled the healing scabs on her face.

  Lissa looked around the room.

  “Listen up, all of you,” she said. “I’m sorry my story isn’t as sad as yours. I’m sorry I only had to leave home when I was sixteen because my stepfather threw my mother down the stairs when she objected to him wanting to have sex with me. I’m sorry I only had to survive on the streets on my own, living in squats and taking up with any crew that would protect me. I’m sorry I was only Turned against my will and almost raped by an insane rogue shifter wizard, and that now I’m only probably going to die because I can’t let my bear out.

  “Nobody really understands what everybody else went through, and maybe what you all went through was so bad you have no choice but to stay here and wallow in it, each of you all by yourselves in your misery. But I decided a long time ago I wasn’t going to let any fucker who tried to mess me up take away my ability to be happy. That I would find the things in life to enjoy and enjoy them, because that’s all you have. Just moments. And it can all go to hell in a second. So I say we take back one damn day, and eat food together and drink Alexander Grant’s liquor and watch his satellite TV, and fight and end up all fat and pissed off like a normal family. Is that so much to ask?”

  She glared around the room. Flynn was leaning against the counter, grinning, and the rest of them were staring at her in stupefaction.

  Including Tank. Holy hell, she was going to shame this entire crew into celebrating a holiday. Together.

  Flynn said, “As alpha of this crew, I proclaim we’re having Thanksgiving. That’s an order. Jaz, you’re in charge of the food. Put together a list, and we’ll get a shopping trip together.”

  Sloan said, “I like sweet potatoes with marshmallows. I can make those.”

  Jasmin was staring into space, muttering, “Turkey on the grill. Chestnut stuffing. Grilled green beans…”

  “Great,” Lissa said, looking around the room with satisfaction. “I’ll get my computer and look up the TV schedule for figure skating.”

  “Hockey!” Xander called after her as she headed out the door.

  Chapter 27

  In what he proclaimed to be the second chapter of Worst Alpha Ever, Flynn agreed to let everyone go into town to buy food for Thanksgiving, so he could have some peace and quiet. Lissa didn’t know whether to be excited, or to prepare for a hideous disaster. Tank seemed to be coming down on the side of ‘hideous disaster.’ All the way there, he was lecturing them about what not to do.

  “Don’t growl at anybody. No knives. No teeth. No weapons of any kind. If you have to speak to anybody, use your manners. Or I’ll bleed the fuck out of you when we get back.”

  “Sounds like a fun Thanksgiving,” Xander muttered, pulling his knife.

  “What did I just say?” Tank said.

  “We’re not there yet,” Xander protested. “It’s only us.”

  “I told you not to bring it at all.” Lissa smacked his hand.

  “It’s my security knife,” he said, annoyed. “Without it, I might break down emotionally from being around all the peoplz, and blubber like a grizzly bear.”

  Tank growled.

  Lissa slapped his hand again, and he slapped hers back. Not hard, but enough to make Tank growl even louder.

  She leaned against Tank’s shoulder and kissed it. “Don’t mind him, he’s
just playing.”

  Tank said, “I’ll teach him to play. With my claws.”

  Lissa kissed him again. Disaster. This was going to be a total disaster.

  They pulled into the parking lot of the shopping center, which was packed with cars. “Shit,” Tank muttered.

  Jasmin gave a little growl. “What the fuck did you expect, the day before Thanksgiving? We’re not the only ones who can’t manage to plan ahead.”

  Lissa grinned. “That’s good to know, don’t you think? Maybe we’re not as fucked up as we thought.”

  “No, we’re not,” Xander said. “We’re worse.”

  Tank cruised the lot, waiting for someone to pull out. Lissa suddenly felt a cold shiver run through her body, the kind of shiver that always made her momma say “someone just walked over my grave.”

  She looked up, and across the street she saw a man looking into a shop window. He turned suddenly, as if someone had called him, and seemed to look straight at her.

  Brother Damien.

  Lissa gave a tiny gasp. It couldn’t be. He’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead.

  “Lissa? You okay?” Tank asked.

  She opened her eyes and scanned the sidewalk. He wasn’t there.

  You’re imagining things, she told herself. Even if he’s not dead, how would he know to come here?

  Police reports, she reminded herself. From her arrest.

  No. There’s no way he wanted to find her that badly. Not someone who clawed him up and left him for dead.

  But he might want revenge.

  She moved closer to Tank. “I’m okay,” she said. “I just saw someone who looked like somebody I used to know.”

  The grocery shopping was fun, despite an argument between Sloan and Xander about chunky versus jelly cranberry sauce, with Jasmin threatening to knock down an entire stack of cans and beat Sloan over the head with them.

  And Xander almost drawing his knife on a poor hapless housewife over the last carton of pumpkin ice cream in the freezer case.

  Tank and Jasmin finally managed to herd everyone to the checkout line. Xander was complaining loudly about the Christmas carols already playing on the speakers. “It’s Thanksgiving, you morons. Where are the turkey carols?” Sloan was browsing celebrity gossip magazines, pretending he was there totally alone and was just standing near them by pure happenstance.