Loved by The Alpha Bear (Primal Bear Protectors Book 1)

by K. T. Stryker

  “Yeah, it was really nice.”

  Chapter 6

  Telling Clara the truth about Mihra removes weight off his chest, but it also adds more weight to replace it.

  She falls asleep before him, like usual. Arms wrapped around her, Nathan listens to Clara’s breathing and tries to process what the last month has been. Her body is warm in his arms. The close contact makes his bruises ache, but everything does that.

  It doesn’t make sense for him to stay here. Clara has a life—she’s a good, kind, talented, headstrong person. She deserves better than for Nathan to be her ball and chain. He knows what he’s like. It’s been driven in over and over for years. If he were a normal shifter, maybe it would work out. But he’s not, so it doesn’t matter.

  He squeezes her harder, nuzzling his face into the back of her neck. Clara stirs slightly, laughing under her breath. “Go to bed. Everything will be OK. We’ll talk tomorrow and figure things out, OK?”

  “OK,” he murmurs, kissing the nape of her neck before backing off and relaxing his grip slightly.

  “I’m home!” Hanging up his keys on the hook, Nathan walks into the entryway and kicks off his boots. With no response, he calls again. “Mihra, you home?”

  There’s more silence, and he furrows his brows. After a moment, he hears sobbing from the bathroom. Fuck. Jogging down the hallway, he jiggles the door handle. Locked.

  “Mihra, open the door.” Panic starts to take over his body, leaving his senses buzzing. He’d be worried about shifting, but fear overrides the stress reaction in this case. “Mihra—”

  With no answer, he backs up and kicks the handle from the side. It takes only two tries with his full weight put into it to knock it off, letting him reach inside the mechanism to unlock the door.

  It swings open, and he sees Mihra sitting against the wall, gasping and clutching her stomach. She’s practically foaming at the mouth. Nathan gapes, and he’s about to ask what happened when he noticed the three empty pill bottles by the sink, one turned on its side with a few pills by the sink handle.

  “Oh, no—” He kneels down. “God, no—Mihra, throw them up.”

  Nathan holds her face, desperately trying to get her attention. She looks distant and tired, already drooling. “How long ago did you take them? How long?”

  “A while ago,” she murmurs, barely audible. Nathan pulls out his phone, dialing 911 and holding it to his ear. “My girlfriend. She’s not doing well. She’s hurt, overdosed—”

  Mihra grabs the phone, throwing it against the shower wall so it cracks and falls in the bathwater. Nathan prays they had time to get his location. He tastes salt from his tears. “No, don’t leave me—”

  “I’m sorry,” she chokes, dark and curly hair curled in mats around her face. “I just didn’t know what else to do. It feels like there’s no point, and without me you’d be better off—”

  She breaks off, heaving but not throwing up. Crying, she clutches at her stomach. Nathan is desperate. He reaches into her mouth, holding it open and trying to activate her gag reflex. She gags but doesn’t throw up, reacting quickly. When she bites down, it’s hard enough to draw blood.

  He doesn’t yank his fingers out. He’s smarter than that. Mihra’s smart, too, and she grabs his hand and pulls it out of her mouth before struggling up and running into the other room.

  Nathan stands, chasing after her. “Stop—”

  He hears a growl and wood breaking. His heart stops in his chest as he runs around the corner and sees Mihra has shifted, destroying the table in the middle of the room. There’s no way he can make her throw up now.

  “Mihra, please. I love you more than anything—”

  Time stops. The world pauses. The sound of faraway sirens cuts off, too. Nathan can hear his labored, panicked breathing.

  “This already happened,” he murmurs, unable to taste the salt of his tears anymore.

  “Yeah, it did.” A familiar male voice. He doesn’t turn around. “Shame I couldn’t have been around to see this coming before it happened.”

  “Dad,” he says, choking up a bit. The man walks around him, staring at the frozen scene. He has black hair like Nathan, but it’s flecked with gray. A grayed beard covers his face.

  “Nathan, you should not have tried to live on your with her.”

  More tears well up in Nathan’s eyes. “I didn’t do this. She did this.”

  “Isn’t it a man’s job to save the ones he loves?” His dad turns around, fixing him with a glare. “Besides, you and I both know she probably wouldn’t have done if it your condition hadn’t stressed her to the breaking point.”

  Nathan shakes his head, not wanting to face any of this. “You don’t know that.”

  “What, and you do?” His dad scoffs. “Naomi’s done well after my death. I was always proud of her. She’s professional, and she knows what our shifter clan needs.” He stares at Nathan with a dark look. “Just stay out of trouble. And deal with this.”

  “She’s already dead,” Nathan tries to defend himself, but his dad cuts him off again.

  “No. You know that’s not what I mean.”

  The older man vanishes, and the scene springs back into action. Nathan finds himself drawn into the dream memory again, running toward Mihra. Before he can do anything, her claws rip through her torso and she falls back, blood everywhere.

  Gasping, Nathan runs to her and tries to wrap a blanket around her form to stop the bleeding. It’s not enough. The next few minutes pass in a frenzy, the sirens getting closer, and soon she’s not moving anymore. Tears streak Nathan’s face, heartbeat racing. There’s a pain in his chest that makes him want to throw up and hurts more than anything else.

  Shaking, he holds as much of her huge bear body as he can in his arms. The sirens get closer, but he doesn’t run this time. He waits until her body shifts back to human.

  But it’s not Mihra. It’s Clara.

  Nathan’s eyes open and he feverishly brushes the hair out of her eyes. There’s blood everywhere, all over him, filling his nostrils with ugly stink. It’s unavoidable, making him want to vomit. Her body is a little smaller than Mihra’s, but the sight is no less painful. Her skin, paler than his old mate’s, is stained everywhere with blood. Straight, soft hazel hair falls all around her shoulders.

  “No, not you,” he murmurs, clutching her close and sobbing. “I can’t let it happen again. I can’t be a weight anymore, not when you deserve so much more than to be dragged down by me.”

  He doesn’t dream again that night.

  The sunlight hurts his eyes when he wakes up. After his pupils adjust, the pain of his bruises takes precedent. His body aches far worse than he can remember, even the nights after other shifts. He’s shifted much too frequently, and his body’s punishing him for it.

  Not for the first time, he wishes he had been born a non-shifter instead of a broken shifter.

  He had detached from Clara sometime during the night. She’s curled up by the side of the bed with most of the comforter on her side. He sits with a quiet groan.

  The clock on the wall reads just past seven in the morning, which means they probably slept for around twelve hours. When Clara got back to the house, it was just barely evening.

  He holds his throbbing head, sighing. Nathan leaves Clara, softly closing the bedroom door as he wanders down the hallway and to the kitchen. He splashes cold water in his face before getting a cold glass of water and chugging it.

  It takes Nathan a moment to notice her presence but not long enough that she has time to surprise him. Setting down the glass, Nathan turns to look at the dark-haired woman leaning against the back of the couch.

  Naomi raises an eyebrow. “I was beginning to think you’d lost touch with your senses, brother. Pleasant surprise.”

  “You stink up the whole place,” he mutters, “I couldn’t ignore a guardian even if I wanted to. Luka’s next door, and his smell keeps me awake constantly.”

  Naomi frowns, grinding her teeth a little. �
��That’s unnecessary.”

  “What’s unnecessary?” He shrugs. “Why are you here? Ready to pick me up and drag me back like a child?”

  Naomi doesn’t answer for a moment and then nods. “Yes and no. I’m here because I’ve made my decision.”

  “About what?”

  “We’re leaving tomorrow night,” she says. “I’m erasing memories, and then you, me, Luka, Toby, and Raine are moving away from here.”

  Nathan looks up. “Not Charlottetown?”

  “No, you idiot,” Naomi snaps. “Thanks to you.”

  “Thanks to me? You know she killed herself,” Nathan snaps back, taking a defensive step forward.

  Naomi shakes her head. “I’d advise you against getting into a scuff with me. One more untimely shift could land you in the ER.”

  As if I don’t know that, he wants to say, but he holds his tongue. Even a verbal fight with Naomi is too much to deal with right now. He nods.

  “I know what Mihra did,” she finally responds. “But don’t pretend like your condition wasn’t hard on her.”

  His heart hurts. “Everyone says that,” he murmurs. “But it wasn’t everything. You didn’t know her like I did. That’s unfair to me and unfair to Mihra—you know I’m not that bad, and things have only been hard here because of grief.”

  “If you knew her so well,” Naomi says, “why couldn’t you prevent her from ending her life?”

  “That,” he snaps, “is just mean. I don’t know why you’re taking this out on me. Did something happen?”

  Pain flashes in Naomi’s eyes, and she softens. “I’m sorry. That was mean, you’re right. Things are…” she trails off. “I met someone, but it isn’t going to work. I took it out on you. Sorry.”

  He nods before sighing and running a hand through his hair. He closes his eyes.

  “Nathan,” she starts after a moment. Her tone is pitying. “I know you care for her, but we both know that it won’t work out.”

  His eyes open again, and he breathes slowly. “And why’s that?” he asks.

  Naomi sighs. “You’re erratic. You know that. It was hard enough with Mihra, but this woman’s human and a cripple—”

  “Don’t use that term. Defend your point without the low-brow insults and outdated terms, please. It’s not necessary.”

  Taken aback, Naomi continues. “Fine.” She brings one hand behind her neck to brush all her black hair over one shoulder. “My point is, it’s only bound to end in pain. Just stay with me and Luka—the two of us will travel together. Human and shifter relationships are doomed to failure.” Naomi pauses. “I’m sorry I’m being awful. I want to protect you—it’s a big sister thing. I’m upset about something right now, and it’s making me a jerk. I really do want the best for you.”

  There’s something deeper in Naomi’s expression, something pained that flashes. Nathan watches it. He nods slowly.

  Naomi works her way over to him, hugging him. The fabric of her knit hoodie is itchy against his skin, and she’s not very good at gentle hugging. She pulls away quickly. “When I said I was going to erase everyone’s memory, I hope you recognize that Clara will be included.”

  His heart sinks, but he’s not surprised. “I pretty much thought as much,” he answers quietly. “When?”

  “Tomorrow.” Naomi looks toward the sea. “She’s going to receive an email from Alice today. They are going out to lunch tomorrow, but Alice won’t show. I sent the email from her computer. I’m just going to talk with Clara and then I’m going to calmly erase her memory. After that, all the bigger fish. That night, we leave.”

  She turns back to Nathan, expression solid and unmovable and dark. “I am absolutely firm on this. You can encourage her to go, you can use the last day and a half you have to do whatever else you need to do, but I am going to erase her memory whether you like it or not.” His sister narrows her eyes. “You hear me, Nathan?”

  He shrinks into the counter. He’s always had too much pride to admit that he’s intimidated by her, but he is. She could beat him in any fight, verbal or physical. “OK.”

  What should he do? He can’t stand up to her, really. Even if he could, would he? She’s not altogether wrong, after all. He knows that he and Clara probably can’t work out. Like Naomi said, Nathan’s condition is hard to deal with. She’s always been right about these things. Why would she be right now? Naomi’s smart.

  Naomi says what he’s thinking. “She’ll just tire of dealing with your issues. It’s better to hurt now than hurt more later.”

  He leans into the counter, sighing. He doesn’t think Clara loves him right now. They’ve barely known each other a month—you can’t really, truly love someone during that time. Clara could be just stuck floating in her early-relationship honeymoon phase.

  If she is, so is he. Every time he thinks about her, his heart swells.

  But she could love him, maybe. The knowledge that it’s possible, that she might really care with time, that she might tell him she’s in love with him, that he might feel the same, is too much to handle. He loved Mihra. He loves her still. Before that, Nathan hadn’t ever really felt that way about anyone.

  Nathan nods, avoiding eye contact with Naomi. “OK.” He pauses, adding one thing. “Just leave me alone until tomorrow night. I want to make the most of my time without your interference.”

  You make me feel pretty bad about myself, he wants to say but bites his tongue. Naomi loves him, and she thinks this is the best thing for him.

  “Of course.” Naomi shrugs and steps toward the sliding door. She opens it just enough to slip out and waves at Nathan. “Stay calm and be good. I won’t interfere unless I have to.”

  When she’s gone and her scent fades, it’s a relief beyond measure. Nathan rubs his temples, exhausted by the shift yesterday and his talk with Clara and whatever the hell just happened with Naomi.

  Clara’s door remains closed. He goes about his usual business with chores: watering her plants, doing the dishes, sweeping the kitchen and living room. All the while, he thinks of Clara.

  Can he really say he’s losing her if Nathan’s the one letting her go? Couldn’t he stand up to Naomi, if he tried?

  Deep down, Nathan knows that’s not the problem. He fundamentally doesn’t want to stop her, and that’s what’s hardest to acknowledge. The problem is that he’s a broken shifter who can’t keep his temper in check and slashes himself up every time he breaks down and lets his bear form out. The deeper problem is that Nathan’s still in the various stages of grief. He doesn’t know how best to bounce back after Mihra.

  Polar bears are supposed to be solitary creatures. Why does the idea of loneliness make him so afraid?

  Chapter 7

  “So, like, you can’t walk anymore?”

  Sitting in her wheelchair, Clara takes a sip of her water. She scratches the back of her neck, laughing awkwardly. “It’s a slowly developing condition. I mean, I can walk, but—”

  “Then why the wheelchair?” Jared frowns, leaning back in his chair. He’s got of a pinched face with brown hair slicked back from the concert.

  Clara doesn’t attempt to hide her look of irritation. “It’s painful for me to walk and sometimes not even possible. The chair is a mobility aid.”

  “Don’t have to be a bitch about it. I didn’t know.” Jared shrugs, making Clara’s blood boil. Jared continues. “And Advil or whatever’s not enough?”

  Another smile to hide her irritation. “No.” She sips her water.

  Sighing, the man leans forward with his elbows on the table. He looks at a table across the room. There, the director of Clara’s orchestra, or the orchestra she used to be in, is sitting next to the college president. Jared turns back to her. “You said you play for the orchestra, right?”

  “Played,” she corrects. “I’ve been getting used to the change—haven’t played since I switched over to the wheelchair. I graduated anyway. I’m planning on doing new things from now on.”

  “So, you can’t play
or you won’t?” He raises an eyebrow. Clara’s getting more and more fed up with the violinist. He’s from a visiting orchestra—he wouldn’t understand.

  “Neither,” she explains. “It’s complicated.”

  He shrugs. “Don’t they have, like, disabled orchestras or whatever?”

  Clara grinds her teeth, clenching fingers around her glass of water. “You can play cello while sitting, Jared.”

  Jared pushing his seat away, grabbing a plate to go to the banquet. He’s blatantly ignoring her comment. “Well. It was nice talking to you, Clarice. I’m going to get some food and speak to my director, so I won’t see you again.”

  My name is Clara, she wants to say.

  “He really said that?” Nathan looks incredulous, staring over the table and his cup of coffee.

  Clara nods, shrugging. She drinks her coffee, glancing out the window. “Being disabled makes you a total different class of human in other people’s eyes. Everything you do is never just you. It’s inspiration porn for others.”

  She glances at the man across from her. “People always want to hear about the strength of the Paralympic athletes or the blind person who paints or the deaf person who writes amazing music. They use it to fuel their goals. It’s not about us—we’re not people to them.”