by T. S. Joyce
This morning, he wouldn’t put those tears in his mate’s eyes again.
He was going to make up for that by giving her smiles instead.
****
Alyssa swallowed the bile that clawed up the back of her throat and asked, “What is that?”
Clinton stood in the woodsy front lawn of her cabin, clad in only a pair of jeans, and from his hand dangled one very dead animal.
Clinton frowned, and in a voice that said it should be obvious, he said, “It’s a present.”
She pursed her lips to keep from gagging. “You…killed it?”
“Yeah.” His frown deepened. “You said there was something scratching at your cabin. It was this coyote. Now you can sleep. You’re welcome.”
Clinton the Monster Shifter had killed for her. She didn’t know whether to be terrified or flattered. “Thank you?”
Clinton let off a snarl and spun around, then strode off for the dirt road that led off the property. “Forget it. Stupid human, you don’t even know what a good present is.”
“Hey!” She stomped off the porch, pulling her jacket tighter around her shoulders. “You can’ t just call me names and think that’s okay. It’s not!” How was he walking so fast? She picked up her pace to a jog. Anger blasted through her veins as she sprinted, and before she could help herself, she shoved him hard in the shoulder blades. “Take it back!”
Clinton spun and growled a feral sound, but she was good and done with his attitude, so she stomped her foot in fury and held his blazing silver gaze.
Clinton’s pissed-off expression faltered, and he countered back a couple steps, looking unsure. “Fine. You aren’t a human.”
“That’s not what I mean, and you know it. Just because I’m not used to seeing dead animals hanging from a man’s bloody hand first thing in the morning doesn’t make me stupid. Take. It. Back.”
Clinton curled his lips back, exposing his teeth, and his gaze drifted to the woods. God, if she could ignore the carnage of his “present,” he was beautiful here in the early morning light that filtered through the thick pine canopy and speckled his body in gold. His profile was rigid, angry, and his muscles were tensed, his abs flexing with each heaving breath. His tattoos were dark against his skin, and yep, there were those nipple bars on full display. She’d never seen piercings like that in the small town she’d come from, but they were sooo…Clinton. And sexy. She wanted to bite one.
“You aren’t stupid,” he gritted out.
Okay, she was a little surprised that being direct had actually worked. “Good monster. Now dispose of that,” she said, waving her hand in the direction of the coyote, “and then come in for breakfast.”
“What if I don’t want—”
“And then, we’re gonna do something fun because I hate that every encounter with you leaves this uncomfortable pit in my stomach. I’m one foot out the door at this point, and I have one day left here before I go back to my life, so why don’t you shock the shit out of me and show me you aren’t actually the incessant ass-hat you pretend to be.”
“You cuss a lot. That’s not sexy on a lady.” But the fire in his eyes had dimmed, and the hint of a smile showed through his beard.
She sighed loudly. “Are you done?”
He gestured to her jeans. “At least you have actual clothes on today.”
Alyssa arched her eyebrows and waited for him to wear himself out.
“And your glasses make you look like a nerd.” He cast her a quick glance, then away again. “Now I’m done.”
“Great. I’ll start making breakfast and see you when you’re cleaned up.”
“Great,” he muttered uncharitably, then strode off down the road again, his back muscles flexing with a sexy undulation with every powerful stride away from her.
Alyssa watched him until he disappeared around a curve behind thick brush. There was a ninety-eight percent chance he would disappear, and she’d be left with a huge breakfast-for-one, but this was his shot to push her away completely or step up. So against her better judgement, Alyssa made her way back to the cabin and started yanking groceries out of the fridge in a big enough quantity to feed a small army or, as the research she’d done online had turned up, one hungry werebear.
The rumble of a truck sounded against the quiet of the cabin, and mildly shocked that he was actually back, Alyssa brushed aside the earthy green curtains on the window above the kitchen sink. Sure enough, Clinton was getting out of his Raptor, with a wad of yellow fabric clinched in his fist. He searched the ground for something, striding through the wild-grass yard until he apparently found what he wanted. Kneeling down, he picked something up and made his way to the front door. And right before he climbed the trio of stairs in front of the porch, he lifted that animal-bright gaze to where she was spying. With a tiny squeak, Alyssa dropped the curtains.
She’d felt all brave and bold outside when she was angry with him, but now he was here, and she was really going to make him breakfast. She would actually have to attempt to carry on conversation with him, and right about now, she was feeling completely overwhelmed.
Up until the point where Clinton rudely barged in and the door banked off the wall hard enough to rattle the small cabin.
Nerves evaporating, she shook her head and went to cutting open the package of pork sausage. Clinton wouldn’t be sweetened easily, but maybe the way to his grumpy-ass heart was through his belly.
His boots were ridiculously loud on the wooden floors, and as he entered the small kitchen area, she held her breath against the heaviness he brought to the air. He was right behind her now, so close she could feel his warmth.
“I like your glasses,” he murmured.
Alyssa blew out a breath and turned, dared a look up at him. He was holding a yellow dandelion flower, and the milky residue at the bottom of the green stem was still welling up.
“I don’t get women, never will, but I thought I was doing good getting rid of what was scaring you at nights.”
The coyote. And well, it did scare her that it wasn’t just a raccoon or something, but a predator trying to get in here when she was trying to sleep. In a way…a Clinton way…it was sort of sweet. But this? Alyssa plucked the flower from between his fingertips and sniffed it delicately. Even though it was a weed, it smelled floral.
“Don’t mushy smile at me like that. It’ll probably be the only flower you get from me.” Clinton crossed his arms and glared, the yellow cloth hanging from his grasp.
“Is that for me, too?”
Clinton angled his face away, but his suspicious eyes never left her. Slowly, he handed her the fabric—a T-shirt, as it turned out. She opened it up, and through the wrinkles read aloud, “Team Clinton.” Baffled, she asked, “What is this for?”
Clinton rolled his eyes to the ceiling and lowered his voice. “I’m giving them to everyone. I’ll be part of the Lumberjack Wars coming up in a few days.”
“And you want me to come cheer you on?”
A single dip of the chin was all she got, but damn, her insides were melting. Clinton was secret-sweet, and she made a mental note to go easier on him. This was a proud man who struggled with communication, but at least he was trying with her.
“Maybe I can spend a couple more days here.” With a sigh and a silent prayer to the heavens that she wasn’t making a huge mistake, she promised, “I’ll be there.”
Clinton uncrossed his arms and stuck his hands in his back pockets, exposing his gloriously bare torso. He shifted his weight from side to side and dropped his gaze to the floor. “Should we hug now?”
Alyssa swallowed her laugh, pursed her lips hard against her smile, and stepped across the space that separated them. Gently, she slipped her hands around his waist and rested her cheek lightly against his chest, and there it was again—that impossibly rapid beat of his heart. Maybe shifters had faster pulses.
Clinton rested his chin on top of her head, tense as if he would pull away, but instead, he growled and squeezed her.
“Too tight,” she rasped out.
Clinton gentled his bear hug and saved her ribs from cracking into little pieces.
“Can I tell you something?” he asked in a low, sultry voice that made her panties instantly wet.
“Mmm hmmm,” she hummed, feeling drunk.
He lowered his lips to right against her ear and held her closer. His lip brushed her lobe, and then he whispered, “You’re burning the sausage.”
“Oh!” Alyssa jumped out of his embrace and stirred the meat. Sure enough, it was starting to stick to the bottom of the iron skillet.
“I wish Mason was here,” he said, his deep tone tinged with humor.
“The boar shifter? Why? Please don’t say ‘so I don’t have to be alone with you.’”
“Because you’re cooking his people.”
“Oh my gosh! Is this offensive? I didn’t know! Do you not eat pork?” She scrambled to pull the skillet off the heat but Clinton stilled her with his hand on her forearm.
He chuckled a deep, warm sound that caused a fluttering sensation in her chest. “I’m teasing. I eat sausage all the time just to piss him off.”
Now her heart was the one hammering because she really thought she’d made a huge mistake. That and Clinton’s hand still rested on her forearm, his touch only separated from her skin by the material of her jacket. How could something not even touching her bare skin feel hot and cold all at once? Taking quick, shallow breaths like a panicked bunny, she slowly leaned her back against his chest. Clinton dragged the lightest touch up her arm, and she cursed the jacket she was still wearing, right up until he carefully pulled it off her shoulders. And then she was cursing her sweater since Clinton could only run a light touch over where her sleeve met her wrist, just a soft brush over her tingling skin. Was she being seduced right now?
She pulled the meat off the hot coil and turned off the burner before she turned slowly in his arms, too afraid to meet his gaze if this wasn’t what he wanted. Alyssa, on the other hand, had never wanted anything more than this—for him to let her in. It made no sense. He’d made it clear they were strangers, but something deep inside of her recognized him. Recognized his soul perhaps. Clinton didn’t feel like a stranger. He was that comfortable feeling of coming home after a long day of work.
Hands trembling, she ran her fingertips up his bare stomach, over his chest, and then slid them behind his neck.
“I don’t like touch.”
His eyes were wide, panicked, and hurt slashed through her chest. She moved to give him space, but he caught her wrists and held her in place, and now it was he who wouldn’t meet her gaze. “Someone hurt me.” Those words, whispered so quietly, almost an inaudible admission, blazed through her mind, creating a pain that spread through her body.
“Who hurt you?”
Clinton bit his lip and shook his head for a long time.
She cupped his cheek and stilled him. “Who?”
“A mate.”
Oh, she didn’t like that. Possessive, protective instincts flared up in her chest. “How?”
A muscle twitched under his eye, and he murmured, “It’s too soon.” He took a step back, and the spell was broken.
Her palms turned to ice where his warmth left her, and she took an unintentional step toward him, chasing that comfort he’d given her. Clinton shook his head, warning her to stay put, and now he smelled like fur.
“I like touching you,” she said. “It feels right, but if you can’t, I understand. I’ll wait until you trust me.” She straightened her spine and infused steel into her voice as she promised, “I would never hurt you.”
Clinton huffed a breath as an empty smile took his face, like he didn’t believe a word she said. How heartbreaking that his mate had made him like this—so able to flip his emotions on and off. She hated the woman who had done this to him. Hated her with every cell in her body.
Alyssa had to know. “What happened to your mate?”
Clinton sauntered backward gracefully, looking more animal than man with the movement. “Amber? Amber’s dead.”
“H-how?”
Clinton leveled her with feral, angry, mercury-colored eyes. “I killed her.”
Chapter Eight
Alyssa slammed her open palm against the countertop and pointed to him. “Don’t you fuckin’ do that, Clinton. Don’t you try to scare me.”
“I killed her,” he repeated, backing toward the door, but now he looked sick, as though he would retch.
“Tell me why.”
He shook his head, denying her, so she screamed, “Tell me why!”
“She was sick.”
“Sick how?”
“Her body was sick. It took a year of medicine. She smelled sick, tasted sick. She was going to die, and my handlers said I needed to save her.”
“Your handlers.”
He showed her his teeth, and now his eyes were almost white. “IESA wasn’t the only one doin’ experiments.”
“No,” she choked out. She wrapped her arms around her stomach as his words curdled her middle. She’d heard all about IESA and their Menagerie.
“I was a breeder, and Amber was hired. They wanted to study the bond, study how different shifters fuck, study pregnancies, birth, the shifter kids, all of it. Amber got paid a lot of money to bind my animal to her.”
“You mean to force a bond?”
“Call it what you fuckin’ want. I might have fought her for a while, but she was my bear’s to protect, and I couldn’t heal her. When she got too sick to stand, they told me I had to try and save her, so I did.”
“What did you do?”
Clinton’s face crumpled, and he linked his hands behind his head. He gritted his teeth and made a long, pained keening sound. “I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to do it.” He was close to the door now.
“Don’t you run. Don’t you tell me this much and run.”
“I bit her. I bit her. I didn’t want to claim her, and she smelled sick. Tasted sick.” He was repeating himself now. “The bear I gave her killed her instantly. It doesn’t work on everyone. I couldn’t Turn her. Not when her blood was so sick. I hated her and I loved her and I hated her and now I’m this…ugly…awful—”
“You stop it,” she gritted out through her streaming tears. “You stop it right now.” Alyssa ran to him and hugged him tight, wouldn’t let him go, wouldn’t let him run.
“Shhhh,” he whispered, like she was the one who needed comfort.
What an awful thing to carry. What a fucked-up thing to happen. “Tell me fast, Clinton. Tell me how she forced the bond.”
“No.” He shook his head, his rough cheek rubbing against hers. Rough on soft.
“Please,” she begged. This was Clinton’s chance to rid himself of the load he’d been carrying. “I’m a stranger, and I’m so good with secrets. There’s no risk in telling me.”
He huffed a heartbroken breath. “No risk? You’ll see the monster in me.”
“I want to. I swear I won’t run. I won’t think you’re a monster.”
Bum-bum, bum-bum, bum-bum. His heart raced so fast against her cheek. He swallowed audibly and cupped his hand around her ear, like he didn’t even want the walls to know. “She was my first fuck, but I wasn’t willing. Not the first time, or the second, or the third. Not until my bear gave in and formed some sick bond with her. I went months in a room with her, no clothes, fighting her, hating her, hating the people on the other side of the window watching us, waiting for me to breed her. Amber was older and more experienced, and she got impatient. She didn’t get paid unless she put on a good show, so I was restrained and she went at me until I came. She called what she was doing to me ‘love.’ She said it wasn’t rape because I was a man, and she always got me to come. And eventually I was broken and disgusted and angry enough that I stopped fighting. And then every time I was with her, it was out of rage—at her and at the people watching on the other side of the glass. I was missing someone from my old life, but I had
to stop thinking about her. They took everything.” His voice hitched. “Amber took everything, and now I can’t fuck a girl without hating her.”
Alyssa buried her face against Clinton’s chest and squeezed her eyes tightly to stave off the sob that filled her throat. He smelled of soap, fur, and something else so deeply familiar it made her head spin. She could almost reach a memory in the dark. Almost. It was on the tip of her tongue, and the boy from her dream flashed across her mind, like he was trying to help, but nothing was there. Nothing solid. It was air and gas, not even thick enough to constitute as fog.
Clinton cupped her face gently, like if he pressed too hard against her skin, she would disintegrate. “Can I try something?” he whispered, his churning eyes so open and vulnerable.
She smiled emotionally and nodded, gripping his wrists, desperate to keep his touch. After a second of hesitation, Clinton lowered his lips to hers and sipped softly. More familiarity. Maybe this is what it felt like to find her person. Her match. Clinton felt so important. She didn’t know how she knew, but he hadn’t shared this story with anyone else. Only her. He trusted her, and despite the soft snarl in his throat right now, she trusted him, too.
He pressed against her mouth harder, and she gasped at how good he kissed her, as though he knew just what she liked. When Clinton’s tongue brushed hers, she was done. A moan escaped her as she opened up wider and slid her hands around the back of his neck. Clinton tensed and huffed a frantic breath, so she released his neck quickly. His lips went soft again as he swayed side to side, sidling up to her, cupping her neck. Alyssa would have to be gentle with him. She would have to be careful not to make him feel trapped, and that was okay. Some deep well of instinct told her Clinton was worth the effort.
His erection was thick and long against her belly.
Clinton ran his fingers up her shirt, and his hands shook as he pulled her sweater over her head. He huffed a long, relieved breath as he looked at her boobs, cupped snuggly in her favorite black bra. His palms hovered just over her breasts, and God, she wanted to melt against him. She wanted to press forward and settle into his hands, but pushing a man who had endured what he had wasn’t right. Clinton stepped back, eyes panicked as he raked his fingers through his sandy-blond hair.