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

by K. T. Stryker

  He pulls away and shrugs at her with a small smile. There isn’t any energy for bitterness left in him. “Liam seems like a nice guy.”

  Naomi shakes her head. “That’s not your business.”

  “Fine,” he concedes, holding up his hands and backing up. “Make your choices. But don’t make mine for me.”

  Not waiting any longer, he goes to Clara, while Naomi turns to trudge away from them. Clara looks up at him.

  Nathan drops to his knees on the pavement of the small walkway, leaning toward Clara and dropping his head in her lap. Just like before, she runs her fingers through his hair. Winded from running and from the fight, he focuses on easing his burning lungs. Clara stays quiet—she doesn’t push him.

  After a moment, he looks up. “I was worried,” she said. “You have no clue how depressed I was, Nathan.”

  “Oh, I think I do,” he teases. “You should have seen me.”

  “I’m glad you came around.” Clara pushes his hair back and out of his eyes with her fingers.

  He squeezes Clara’s free hand. “Me too.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t help defend you against Naomi. I didn’t know what to say—I thought it’d make it worse.”

  Nathan shakes his head. “No, you were right not to say anything. It would have just convinced her that I was only doing this because of some sort of honeymoon-phase obsessive love.” The shifter stands, groaning. He sees Clara wince, staring at his battered body. “I needed to do this myself. It’s been coming a long time. I know there’s strength in weakness that she’ll probably never know because she’s so afraid to be weak at all.”

  Clara nods. “I’m glad.”

  When he weaves his fingers through Clara’s, it feels like home. Her skin is soft, but there are old calluses on her fingertips and Band-Aids on some. She is real. “You asked me before,” he begins, “if I’d like to stay with you longer.”

  “And you lied,” Clara points out.

  “Yeah.” Nathan looks up. There isn’t any judgement in Clara’s gaze, just forgiveness. Any apprehension he’d had fades away. “What do you say about giving me another chance? No lies this time—just the truth.”

  Amusement flashes in her eyes. “Just the truth, huh? I think I might be able to swing another try.” She gently squeezes Nathan’s hand. “I’m afraid I’ve got no guest room, though. You may have to sleep in my bed.”

  Nathan looks down at her. What happens now? A job, of course. He doesn’t know what will happen with the investigation, but he’s got a suspicion Liam and Naomi will take care of that. If not, well…there’s still evidence they didn’t gather. Nathan figures he’ll probably be fine.

  A breeze tosses Clara’s hair and fills Nathan’s nostrils with the scent of the sea.

  “I think I might be able to swing that,” he teases. “That is, if you make up for it by kissing me now.”

  Clara smiles, a quirky half-smirk that makes Nathan wonder how deep his feelings go. How far could they go? “Get down here, then.” She tugs at his hand.

  As Nathan dips down to kiss her, he knows he can’t wait to find out.

  Chapter 9

  Fifteen months later

  Breathe.

  Carefully, slowly, deliberately, Clara pulls the bow across the strings. Falling into the sound, she switches notes. Inside her head, she counts.

  The rhythm feeds her. It feels so natural, so normal. She's got this memorized, so she doesn’t turn the page of sheet music. Clara lets herself be consumed by the music.

  Clara’s eyes are focused on her fingers. She shifts her posture, moving with a crescendo. The music pulls out of her, the most natural thing she's ever known.

  Time doesn't work the same here. It consumes and eats her alive. Her fingers sting but not much. Practice has changed that. Finally, Clara pulls her bow from the cello and looks over the concert hall.

  There are so many faces, looking like separate bobbing pinheads. Applause rings as the sound of her instruments fades out of the arched wood walls. Lips parting, she looks at the sea of people before a volunteer takes her cello from her, allowing her to transfer to her wheelchair and move stage right.

  Once in the small side hallway, she lets out a long breath. Her heart beats steadily, thumping in her chest. A volunteer pats her on her shoulder. "You OK, Ms. Summers?"

  "Oh," she answers quickly. "Yes. It's just strange."

  "What is?" She sees her cello being packed in its case and feels grateful that they're being gentle with it. The volunteer asks again. "Ms. Summers?"

  "Just call me Clara." She smiles at him. "It's fine. It's been a long time since I've played in front of this many people.

  "It's very brave of you," he says, uttering the cursed words.

  Clara resists rolling her eyes and settles for smiling. She reminds herself that not everyone understands why that sort of wording bothers her.

  "That's very nice, but it’s not a bravery thing. I didn't stop playing because of my disability." She rolls down the hallway, glad she chose a dress with a shorter skirt so nothing catches in the wheels. "I stopped playing because I was concerned people would call me brave for a skill I learned before I had to use a wheelchair."

  She turns a cheeky grin to the man, who looks embarrassed. He starts to apologize, but she waves him off. "Happens all the time." She pauses. "Is there anything left to do backstage or can I go out to the reception?"

  "We're having your cello loaded into the car you came here in. Go on out." Another volunteer walks up and speaks to Clara. She gestures toward the door, and Clara doesn't hesitate as she wheels toward it and hits the button to automatically open it with her palm.

  The ramp isn't steep, and she takes the winding way down to the main area. It's not the most wheelchair accessible concert hall she's played in, but for this performance, she didn't want to perform anywhere big.

  At the base of the stairs, she stops to run her fingers over a poster with her silhouetted photo. Clara Summers' Solo Comeback Concert—$15 general admission, $10 for student and seniors. July 4th, 6–7p.m.

  When she rolls her chair into the main room, Clara is swept up in a flurry of activity. Surrounded by audience members, she tries to greet as many as she can and stay friendly. The attention is overwhelming.

  Someone squeals and swoops her into a hug. The perfume is familiar. Rosebud. "Hey, Mom.”

  Her mom pulls back, squishing her cheeks in her hands. "Honey, you were so wonderful. I am so proud of you." The brunette, whose hair is in a bob cut, smiles gently. "You are so strong. You've pushed through all this with such stride."

  "Yeah, the years of schooling were really difficult," Clara says, hiding her irritation beneath a layer of sugar. She smiles. “It’s all about practice.”

  Her mom looks distant, and a little...disappointed? "Well, but honey, your legs—”

  "I worked hard for this. It's nice to have everyone's support as I start to play again. It’s not about my legs. It’s about me knowing what people think of my disability shouldn’t stop me from playing just because I want my hard work to be recognized."

  Clara squeezes her mom's hand, cutting off her tirade. Her peripheral vision searches for the single person she wants to see right now. He’s nowhere in sight.

  "Oh, but you're such a talent." The middle-aged woman pinches her cheek. "What next? An orchestra? An album? I'm so proud of you."

  Shaking her head, Clara raises an eyebrow. "I'm not sure—I guess we'll see. Talent is a fallacy, besides. Thank you for all your support throughout the years. I know I've pushed myself. I'm proud of myself as well."

  "You're welcome, sweetie." Completely missing the point, her mother lights up and clasps her hands together. "Are you looking for Nathanael? I just saw him."

  There it is. "You did? Where?"

  "Closer than you think." A familiar, deep voice resounds in her ear, and Clara feels arms weave around her front. Nathan drifts his lips over her ear and kisses her temple, making her shudder. "You were so wonde
rful. Every note was perfect. I don't know how you do it."

  "Like I said," Clara responds, quiet and teasing, voice almost a purr. "With hard work."

  "I've been telling her," Clara's mother chimes in, gushing, "she's a natural talent and such a hard worker to forge past her disability."

  Clara can't see Nathan's expression while he's behind her, but she has no doubt it's guarded. He laughs. "You give her less credit than she deserves, Mrs. Summers. I highly doubt the muscular sclerosis has much to do with it. Right, Clara?"

  Relief washes through her. "Right." She smiles, tilting her head and looking up. Nathan looks just as wonderful as always but more put-together now. His black hair is combed out of his eyes, and he is wearing a dress shirt and tie. It's an unusual sight for him.

  "You look amazing," she smiles. "So clean and formal."

  He opens his mouth to speak, but he's cut off by Clara's mother again. "It is a change, isn't it? I say Nathan's a unique boy either way." She smiles at them both, clasping her hands together. "You two are so cute, I can scarcely believe it. Nathan, I've said this before, but you're simply a charm for being able to hook Clara. She's so dodgy—always has been."

  "Well," he jokes, catering to her mom's whims in that clever way he always does, "I had to put up a fight. She’s a real fixer-upper, that one.” Nathan flicks his tongue out at Clara, making her roll her eyes.

  By the time they finally manage to extract themselves from the concert hall and get to Clara's car, it's dark. With Clara's cello loaded into the back, Nathan gets into the driver’s seat and the two begin the drive back to Port Murmure.

  Clara leans her head against the window, staring at a purple-blue night. Nathan taps on the steering wheel with his pointer finger. She muses out loud. "You're the real fixer-upper in this relationship, you know." Clara turns to him, teasing.

  Nathan raises an eyebrow. "Of course, I know that. I'm surprised you didn't bring it up then. Thank you for keeping my pride intact." He laughs.

  Clara sighs, smiling. She could fall into that laugh of his, the comfortable one that tells him he's happy. It's like a safe zone—a reminder that things are OK. More than OK.

  Nathan reaches over and squeezes her fingers with his right hand, steering with the other. His touch is warm, making her shiver. She leans into it as Nathan runs his thumb back and forth over her hand and knuckles.

  The feeling of it lulls into somewhere else, somewhere dreamlike. His touch is soft, even with the rough skin on his hands. He works as an EMT again, now—Port Murmure was hiring to help man the emergency line and ambulance. Clara has never seen him happier, which is good. His happiness is infectious. Nathan's comfort makes her feel like she can tackle anything. She wonders, in the back of her mind, if he feels the same way about her.

  While driving into Port Murmure again, she speaks up. "Nathan, how does love feel?"

  "In general?"

  "No," Clara corrects, "For you."

  There's a small pause. He bites his lip, tapping on the steering wheel once more. "Love feels like...a warm bath in the dead of winter." When he pauses, the car feels alive with energy. His voice is so smooth, and Clara hangs onto every word. "You're cold but not freezing to death. You get home and take off your gloves and coat and hang them up." He turns onto the road leading to Clara's house. "Then you put away your boots and your bag. It's not an immediate switch to warmth, but you can feel it coming. You turn on the water and get undressed. When you finally step into the bath, it's everything. The anticipation is half of it. The rest is the feeling. It surrounds you entirely. Every aspect of who and what you are."

  "Not like a natural high, right?" Clara raises an eyebrow.

  He shakes his head. "No. It's much slower than that." Reaching to his chest, Nathan rubs the spot where his heart would be. "It's a glow from deep within."

  "And to think that I'm the one who writes for a career," she teases. It's dark in the car and so she can't see his blush, but Clara is certain it's there.

  When they park at the house, Nathan comes around the side and picks her up bridal style in his arms. Clara squeals, heart pounding.

  Nathan laughs. It has a calming effect, and Clara leans into his body. The shifter smiles. "I've got a surprise."

  He locks the car, careful not to drop Clara, before carrying her past the gardens and down a set of steps to the beach. The steps are new and not really steps—they're scaffolding for a ramp. As of right now, that leaves only Nathan beach access with ease. Clara could find a way to get to the beach while walking, but there'd be no way to get back. The ramp will be good.

  She leans closer into Nathan's chest. With her ear pressed to his skin, Clara can hear his heartbeat. "You're a hopeless romantic," she comments, eyes darting up to Nathan's.

  When he looks down, the shifter seems more intrigued and amused than embarrassed. "Maybe so," he admits. "But I'm the most dangerous type of hopeless romantic."

  "And what type would that be?"

  Nathan steps onto the sound, a tiny smirk on his face. "The type, Ms. Clara Summers, with a habit of well-planned, terribly cheesy dates.” He snickers, and Clara has no choice but laugh with him.

  She looks toward the ocean. Near the tide line but far enough that they won't be getting wet any time soon, there's a blanket laid out with rocks. There's a basket, too, and two wine bottles.

  "None of this was here before we left, Nathan." Clara smiles. "Who did this?"

  He shakes his head. "I have to have some secrets."

  "Luka, then?"

  Nathan snorts and sets Clara on the blanket in her formalwear. Fine, you've got me. Took a lot more convincing than it should have, too—he's a prat and a royal pain."

  Nathan pours wine. There’s cheese and crackers, too, making Nathan’s statement about this being a cheesy date pretty accurate. It’s late, the moon high in the sky and leaving the beach glowing silver.

  They talk. It’s natural. Drinking happens, but not too much. Neither drink in excess anymore, and that’s a good thing.

  At some point, exhaustion hits. Not a desire for sleep—just a bodily tiredness that makes Clara lie back, laughing. She stares at the sky.

  Nathan falls back next to her and weaves their fingers together. “Sometimes I think the stars are all little eyes, watching us rotate around the sun again and again.”

  “Are you afraid of what they’d see?”

  Clara shakes her head and smiles. “No. Are you?”

  “Not anymore.” He leans over and kisses Clara’s shoulder, lips lingering on the skin and charging the moment with intimacy. “Not these days.”

  Nathan sits slowly, leaning on his bent knees. Clara stays lying back. It’s more comfortable like this. Nathan reaches and brushes hair out of her eyes before leaning down and kissing her on the lips.

  When he pulls away, the shifter looks distant. Even in the dark, Clara can see that look. She knows it. “There’s something on your mind.”

  He nods. Clara raises an eyebrow. “Care to elaborate?”

  Gently, Nathan reaches a hand behind Clara’s back and helps her sit up. He ruffles her hair, leaning in and kissing her neck. Clara’s heart sinks. Is he leaving? Has he has enough of me? Has he had enough of this town? The way he’s acting makes her feel anxious.

  Smile dropping, Nathan creases his brow. “Clara, is something wrong?”

  “You aren’t…” She trails off. “You aren’t mad at me, are you?”

  His eyes go wide. “No! Absolutely the opposite.”

  Nathan smiles at her, and Clara feels drawn into his soft gaze. Reaching inside his jacket, he pulls out a small box. Clara’s heart thumps in her chest, speeding up as he sits in front of her. “If you can’t stand, I suppose kneeling has little purpose,” he murmurs, a dopey smile on his face.

  “Oh,” Clara breathes, grasping the situation.

  Nathan opens the box, revealing a silver ring with a tiny, inlaid diamond. “I know you like subtle.” He sounds nervous, his voice wavering. Clara�
��s mouth feels dry as he continues.

  “I know I’m eclectic. I know I don’t make sense, and to accept this would be to accept the faults I’m not sure how to get rid of yet, along with ones that will never go away.”

  The shifter grabs Clara’s hand, squeezing it. “But if you don’t mind that—if you don’t mind knowing I have claws—” He snorts, and Clara giggles. “If you don’t mind that—Clara Summers, would you do me the honor of marrying me?”

  Clara’s heart flips in her chest. She shivers, emotionally overwhelmed. Nodding, she smiles and chokes back her tears. “Yes. More than anything, yes.”

  Nathan’s lips twitch as he pulls the ring out and slips it onto her finger. It takes a few tries with how shaky his hands are from excitement. Once it’s on, Clara takes his hands in her. “There’s very little you could have done wrong to ever make me say no.”

  “I love you,” Nathan chokes out, emotional and teary-eyed.

  “I love you too, Nathanael Walker.”

  Unable to hold back any longer, Clara kisses him. It’s not a powerful kiss or one driven by passion. It’s a gentle kiss—they mold into each other as part of a whole. She called him a hopeless romantic, but it’d be a blatant lie to say she’s not one, too.