Bears of Burden: WYATT

by Candace Ayers

  Until today. She almost wished she were staying longer. If Colton Sterling was single, which she doubted anyhow, he’d be more than welcome to park his boots under her bed tonight.

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  Check out these other books by Candace Ayers

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  NATHAN: BILLIONAIRE BEAR

  BYRON: HEARTBREAKER BEAR

  XAVIER: BAD BEAR

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  GIVEN TO THE VAMPIRES

  STORY DESCRIPTION

  Sheltered, adored, virginal, Anna finds herself given in marriage to the one man who terrifies her above all others. A vampire.

  She has no choice.

  Her father’s life depends on her fulfilling the agreement.

  Her betrothed, however, already shares his life, his bed, and his eternity with another vampire. A male.

  Anna is thrust into a world completely foreign to her, yet despite her fear, the two creatures ignite a lusty passion in her the likes of which she has never before known.

  Chapter 1: Dimitri

  When you’ve lived as long as I have, there will have been times when you must make hard decisions. Decisions that seem, at the time, impossible. I’d believed at one time that eventually what was left of my humanity would disappear, and I’d be able to make these kinds of decisions coldly, without the emotions that made the dealings of humankind so messy.

  It had been three hundred years that I’d been a vampire, and still I couldn’t shake those last vestiges of what it meant to be a human. For the most part, I could shake off the most inconvenient emotions. I could rely on all my experiences, all my memories, all my knowledge of human fallibility, and use it to rise above the chaos.

  But now, in this moment, as I looked at the grey-haired man kneeling on the carpet in front of me, his shoulders trembling, I felt so many of those human emotions that we claimed to have conquered.

  Anger.

  Confusion.

  Sorrow.

  “How long have I known you, Anthony?” I demanded, my voice solid, ringing with anger.

  His voice shook when he responded. He didn’t look up from the carpet. “Twenty years, Dimitri.”

  The man standing behind him—a Germanic hulk of a man, with a thick neck and hands the size of my head—cuffed him across the back of his head. “You use respect when you speak to him!” he snapped in his thick accent.

  Frederick, my enforcer.

  “Twenty years, sir.” Anthony repeated, trying to steady his voice. It didn’t matter—I could feel his fear. I could taste it on my tongue, rancid and bitter like old sweat. Despite the fact that I’d fed only an hour ago, I could feel the desire for blood stirring. Somehow, it always tasted sweeter when they were afraid. It was hotter; it ran faster.

  But this was no ordinary lackey who had made a mistake. This was a man I had considered my friend. And the mistake that he had made was terrible. For anyone else, it would be unforgiveable. So, what was I to do? I would have killed any other man, made an example of him. Let Frederick take him to do whatever it was he wished. But not Anthony. I couldn’t, and I cursed the lingering human emotion that made it so goddamn difficult.

  He’d come to me, twenty years ago, broke and starving with a wife and a six-month-old daughter to care for. He’d begged me for any job, said that he would clean my toilets or cook my food, anything so that he could bring home money to his family. I’d believed his sincerity, and so I’d done better for him. I’d taken the failing tailor’s shop that he’d owned, and I’d invested in it, helped to make him successful. And in return, I used the shop as a front to launder money. It had been a mutually agreeable relationship, one built on trust and respect, and after many years, something very like friendship.

  “Tell me, again, what happened, Anthony.” I needed to hear it again. I needed all of my anger.

  “They came, asking for information. They threatened my wife, my daughter! How was I to know that they would kill him?”

  The “him” that Anthony spoke of was my second-closest friend. For two hundred years, a vampire named Raoul had been my closest friend, and for over half that, Bernard had been with us as well. We’d navigated the years together, the only constants in a world that could never remain the same for us. Immortality means, inevitably, losing some who you love—especially if you have a weakness for humans, as I do. I have never been able to resist the desire of humans, the way they are so desperate to live, because their lives are so short. And it has never been able to be helped that I would fall in love with some of them. Raoul, too, has been unable to resist the draw of them, here and there, over the centuries. But Bernard—Bernard was always ours alone. From the moment Raoul turned him, he loved only us. And now, because Anthony had been afraid, Bernard was dead. Killed by the lunatics who feared us, the dreaded organization that hunted us ruthlessly. I thought I had paid most of them off, but clearly there was some disciple that had thought himself too righteous to be bought.

  Some member of the A.V.O. had discovered our operation, and threatened Anthony’s family. I could understand his terror, could sympathize with his instinct to protect them. But as a result, a man who had been my friend and sometimes lover was dead. I could feel my heart, old as it was, aching with grief. I could envision where Raoul was at this moment—probably sitting in front of the fire in our bedroom, maybe still as I had left him hours ago, holding the bloody jacket that had been brought to us. There was nothing left of Bernard to bury. Only that jacket. I envied Raoul his ability to fall apart. As our coven leader, I had no choice but to swallow my grief and instead do my duty, and make an example of Anthony.

  I looked down at him. “Why didn’t you come to me, Anthony? Why didn’t you trust me to keep you safe?” That was the question that had been gnawing at me all night, since we’d received the news. He knew what I was, what Raoul was, what Bernard had been. Why hadn’t he trusted us to keep his family safe? I would have brought them into our home, protected from the A.V.O. by Frederick, the rest of my security detail, and the best technology modern times could offer.

  He should have trusted me.

  He was shaking his head, staring down at the carpet. “I was afraid, sir. Afraid to leave them for even a moment. Afraid that my call to you would be tracked. I was paralyzed by fear.”

  He looked up at me then, his face pleading. “I know you must punish me for it. In trying to save my family, I’ve broken yours. I beg you, sir, don’t punish my family for my mistakes, please.”

  I looked at him, trying to keep my face impassive. He believed I would kill him. His acceptance of it struck me, the way he knelt on the carpet without tears or pleading, only concern for his family. I knew that his death was what Raoul expected. It was what the others in my organization would expect. It would set the example that would prevent any of our other contacts from making this same mistake.

  But the truth was, I didn’t want to. My head ached. I wanted to go back to the bedroom, gather Raoul into my arms, and grieve for Bernard. I didn’t want to preside over the death of another friend. But I had to make an example. I had to show that this sort of betrayal would not be tolerated.

  I took a deep breath.

  “You did this because you were afraid for your family, Anthony. I can understand that urge. But, as you said, your fear and lack of faith in me has brok
en apart my family. My relationship with Raoul and Bernard was always that of friends, but it was also more than that. You have, essentially, deprived me of a partner and a spouse.”

  I saw no shock register on Anthony’s face. He’d known that Raoul and I were, for all intents and purposes, together. Clearly he’d suspected that of Bernard as well. I felt a sharp, piercing dart of anger.

  “You have until now been a loyal friend, Anthony, and our business relationship has always been profitable to us both. I am willing to spare your life…”

  “Sir!” Anthony gasped, gratitude suffusing his voice. I held up my hand.

  “Under one condition.”

  “Anything, sir.”

  I couldn’t help the way my mouth twisted, smirking as I looked down at him. He would regret that statement in a moment.

  “You have a daughter, Anthony. In exchange for the partner you have deprived me of, you will give me your daughter as my wife. In exchange, I will let you have your life and return to your family, and our business relationship will continue as it did before.”

  His face looked stricken, much as I imagined mine must have when we’d received the news of Bernard’s death. Much the way Raoul’s had still looked when I’d left him sobbing in our room. I felt a moment of vengeful gratification.

  “Sir, please!” he gasped. “Don’t punish my family for this!”

  “Are you implying marriage to me is a punishment for your daughter? Do you think I would hurt her? Force her against her will? Provide anything for her but the most luxurious existence?”

  “You’re taking her from me!”

  “You took Bernard!” I thundered, my voice tight with rage. “You will still be able to see your daughter, Anthony, speak to her, spend holidays with her. If I truly wanted to take your daughter from you, I would make you watch as Frederick snapped her neck! But I only ask that you replace what you have taken from me. I am asking very little, I think.”

  “She doesn’t love you.”

  “That is something I am prepared to deal with.”

  I could see that Anthony was fighting to hold back tears. He hadn’t cried for himself, but he was crying for his daughter. It touched me, but I was resolute.

  I softened my voice a touch. “I promise you, Anthony, I will not force your daughter in any way. I will not lay a finger on her against her will. I will treat her with kindness and dignity, and in time I hope that she will come to see me as a true husband. But whether our marriage is forever one in name or becomes a true marriage, she will be my wife.”

  My tone hardened again. “Or, Anthony, I will kill you in front of your family and take her as my wife anyway.”

  His head shot up, and his teary gaze met mine.

  “So you see, Anthony, you truly have no choice.”

  Chapter 2: Anna

  I had stared at my father in near-incomprehension when he told me the news. At first, I’d hardly seen his red-rimmed eyes or ashy face, I was so happy to have him home. My first thought was that Dimitri had forgiven him, that their years of friendship had overcome the horrible mistake that my father had made. That Dimitri had seen that it was truly a mistake.

  My mother and I had run to him the moment he’d stumbled in the door, hugging him madly and asking if he was alright. Dimitri hadn’t harmed a hair on his head, he’d said. But then he’d turned to me, fixed me with those bloodshot eyes, and I’d felt my blood run cold.

  It was the heat of it I felt now, the soft thrum of it in my veins. I knew so little about what they were. What Dimitri was. I shuddered. Would he want to drink from me? I’d heard so many different things. Some said that they were like animals, that they drank from humans and left them pale and anemic. I’d heard wild tales of banquets where they split open veins and let the blood run into goblets and drank it like wine. And then there were others who said all that was nonsense and that they got blood from the government-sanctioned blood banks, where humans were compensated handsomely for donating. That seemed to be the most logical answer. But still, I thought of all the other stories I’d heard, and I shuddered.

  It wasn’t just that. I wasn’t being sent to him for a night, or a weekend. I was going to be his wife. I hadn’t even begun to think about who I might marry someday. I had friends who thought of that and little else, but I was happy to stay away from boys in general. They all seemed so immature and ridiculous. I’d stayed home for the last two years to help my parents, since my mother’s illness had progressed and she wasn’t always able to help my father run the tailor shop. But he’d promised me that when my twenty-first birthday came in a few months, he would ask Dimitri for an assistant so that I could go to college in the fall. I’d already received acceptance letters.

  I wondered if Dimitri would still let me go. Would he approve of it? Or would he want me sequestered away in the penthouse where he lived, kept away from the daylight like he was? It was late at night, but I suddenly craved the sunrise. How many more times would I see it? Would he demand I keep his hours?

  I heard a knock at my door. I wondered if it was my father. I wanted to be petulant and not let him in—he’d agreed to this, after all—or my mother, who hadn’t fought against it. She’d only looked at him with her pale, drawn face and inhaled a rattling breath before turning away. It was winter, and she had pneumonia again.

  The knock came again, lighter this time. “Come in,” I said finally, turning away from the window.

  It was my mother. She smiled faintly at me as she walked in and sat on the edge of my bed. I suddenly felt a wash of sadness, looking at it. I’d lived in this room for my whole life. It had been a nursery, and then a little girl’s room, and then a teenager’s bedroom, and now the bedroom of a young woman. There were hints of every stage still sprinkled around—the pale pink paint on the walls that we’d never bothered to repaint, even though I didn’t really care for pink; the stuffed animal I’d clung to as a five-year-old; the faded poster of a band I’d listened to in tenth grade and hated now; the very adult bedspread my mother was sitting on now, a dark red quilt with wildflowers sprinkled into the pattern matching pillows. My grandmother had made it for me. She’d said she was saving it for my wedding, but had given it to me on my eighteenth birthday with a wink, saying she didn’t think that happy occasion would be coming around anytime soon. She’d died just last year.

  I was suddenly glad of it. I was glad she wasn’t here to see the occasion that was leading to my marriage.

  My mother’s voice broke me out of my reverie. “We’re going wedding dress shopping tomorrow, Anna.”

  “I don’t want to.” My voice was sullen and childish even to my ears, but I could hardly bring myself to care.

  “Anna.” Her voice was soft, but it was more firm than I’d heard it in a very long time.

  “Anna, your father doesn’t want to distress you anymore than you already are with this news, but I think you must know the whole truth. Dimitri is determined to have you as his wife. It is his price for the mistake your father made.”

  “But surely he doesn’t actually expect that I will go along with this?”

  “If you do not agree, if you force your father to deny Dimitri what he has asked for—and you know your father will not ever force you to do anything you truly do not want to do—he will kill your father and marry you anyway.”

  I heard her voice catch. “Anna, you know I could never want you to be unhappy. But there is no way out of this. This is the only way for everyone to come out of this alive.”

  “Why didn’t he just ask for Dimitri’s help?” I whispered softly. “Dimitri would have helped us.”

  My mother sighed, her fingers knotting in her lap. “It was a mistake, Anna,” she repeated. “If you truly believe Dimitri is such a good man, that he would have helped us if your father had asked, then you must believe that he will treat you well. He promised your father he would not touch you unless you consent, that it will be a marriage in name only, for as long as you want it to be.”

&nbs
p; “That will be forever, then!” I snapped, my temper flaring up. “How could he possibly think I would ever want to let him touch me after forcing me into this?”

  It felt strange to talk about things like this, even so vaguely, with my mother. I had plenty of friends who talked about it nonstop, all of whom had slept with multiple men. I was an outlier, the one girl who had a working knowledge of how sex worked but hadn’t actually done it. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to…there had just never been anyone who made me feel the way the characters in the books I read felt. No one who made my heart beat fast and knees go weak, who made me feel as if I would die if he didn’t touch me. I wanted that for my first experience, that heady sensation that the pages of my books described. I didn’t want the painful, awkward fumbling that my friends had talked about, the mediocre encounters afterward. I wanted passion, and desire, and romance.

  Now it seemed none of that would ever happen for me.

  I knew, no matter how much I flirted with the idea, that I could not turn Dimitri down. My father would never force me to go through with it, but I believed my mother when she said that Dimitri would have him killed and marry me anyway. I did not have a choice.