Sheltered by the Alpha Bear: Alpha Werebear BBW Interracial Shifter Paranormal Romance

by Jasmine Wylder

  “Just make sure you cover his scent. They know their own better than they know us.”

  With Ilyssa leading the way and Kristof bringing up the rear, ever watchful, the party made its way back through the trees. The tribe’s encampment lay deep in the forest, past streams and up onto a rocky plateau which gave them a visual vantage point while at the same time secluding them from anyone who might try to search for them. They knew these woods better than anyone in the two major kingdoms it separated – Lobishome, the land to the east, and Emberi, bordering the Western Seas.

  They reached their destination just as the sky began to change its shade from black to violet. Members of the tribe who rose at dawn to begin their daily chores stopped to greet the returning party with cheers of triumph. Ilyssa clasped their hands in passing.

  The bearers delivered their prisoner to one of the small stone huts used for storage. Constructed of smaller rocks and mud, it butted up against a large boulder. The tribe used it as one of their stores in winter; now it stood empty save for a bucket in the corner and a bedroll on the floor, ready to receive their temporary “guest.”

  “Careful!” Ilyssa snapped, when the four men carrying the stretcher dumped their still unconscious burden onto the wool blankets in a decidedly unceremonious fashion.

  She scowled at them as they made their way back out past her through the only door to the structure.

  “He’s worth more to us undamaged. We’re trying to get a ransom, not bring the Lobishome army down on our heads for harming one of their statesmen!”

  Kristof had shouldered his crossbow and now stood beside Ilyssa. “The dust should be wearing off, soon. The collar may weaken him, but we’ll still need a guard on the door at all times.”

  “Agreed,” she said.

  She stripped off her heavy waistcoat and passed it to Kristof. “The wrist cuffs stay on. I’m going to switch them around to the front so he can feed himself and take care of other personal business.”

  She nodded to a wooden bucket in the corner for emphasis. “The man should at least be allowed a little dignity.”

  “Aye,” Kristof said, and smirked. “I doubt you’ll find anyone here willing to help him with that particular task.”

  “Some of them can’t even wipe their own asses,” Ilyssa said.

  She stepped over to their prisoner. Holding out her hand, she caught the key when Kristof tossed it to her. She knelt down beside their captive and shoved him over onto his side so she could get to his restraints.

  “Pretty hands,” she noted, taking a moment to admire the long, tapered fingers.

  “Probably never did a day of hard work in his life,” Kristof said with a snort.

  “Probably not.”

  Snapping the cuffs back into place, Ilyssa rolled the lifeless man onto his back.

  “Now for the hood.”

  Drawing a small knife from a sheath in her boot, she used it to cut the cord cinching the sack around their quarry’s neck. While loose enough not to constrict, the rope had been necessary to hold the bag in place so it could not slip off easily during transport.

  “There we go,” Ilyssa said. “Let’s have a look at you, Ambassador.”

  She pulled the hood free – and nearly fell backwards from shock. Her blue eyes widened as she stared down at the face of the man lying before her.

  “Shit!” she hissed. She stood up and backed away, shaking her head. “No – no, this isn’t right! How can this be?”

  “By all the Fates,” Kristof said, his normally deep, rumbling voice turning breathy with horror. “That isn’t the ambassador – it’s Alaric, the crown prince!”

  He dropped Ilyssa’s coat and reached out to grasp her arm.

  “That coach was supposed to contain a dignitary of the court, traveling to the northern kingdom of Terradine – that is what we were told by our informants!”

  “I know what we were told!” Ilyssa shot back. “Apparently, someone either lied or was mistaken.”

  “We cannot keep the sovereign heir to the Lobishome throne here,” Kristof said gravely.

  He shook his head, blond ponytail swaying against his collar. “This will incite a war. King Mardell will raze the entire forest, and roast our bodies over the fires for kidnapping his son.”

  “This makes no sense. What was the crown prince doing out on the highway to Emberi, in the middle of the night?”

  Ilyssa planted her hands on her full, rounded hips and gazed down at the sleeping prince in a mix of frustration and confusion.

  “Why would he be on a journey, on his own in an unmarked coach, with only a driver and no royal guard?”

  “Who cares?” Kristof paced to the door, where he paused and looked back at her. “We need to send him back, Ilyssa – the sooner, the better. When Barto returns, I’ll talk to him about procuring a horse and cart. I’m thinking we can keep His Majesty dusted and conceal him under a tarp with some baskets bound for the Lobishome marketplace. Once we get him back to his kingdom, we can dump him and leave.”

  He grimaced. “His people will surely take care of him, from there.”

  As Kristof ducked out of the small storage hut, Ilyssa turned her attention back to their unexpected prisoner. Her friend had not exaggerated when he described the wrath that loomed before them.

  They had planned to abduct the Lobishome emissary and hold him for enough ransom that they could purchase goods from some of the smaller, neighboring kingdoms to get the tribe through the winter months. The king would have negotiated and paid them enough. But there would be no ransoming a prince. The laws about kidnapping varied depending on the status of the abductee; when it came to members of the royal family, one could expect a date with the executioner’s ax and nothing more.

  “This is bad,” Ilyssa said under her breath. “This is so very, very bad.”

  The prince began to wake. Ilyssa cursed. Her shock had distracted her from completing the necessary security measures. Hastening back to his side, she grabbed a heavy chain threaded through an iron ring set in the solid stone wall, and attached it to the cuffs binding his wrists. The chain would allow him to move about but would stop him just short of the door.

  In the morning light that began to creep into the room, Ilyssa paused and looked down at his face again.

  Admittedly, Prince Alaric had to be one of the most attractive men she had ever seen. His flawless skin had a bronze tint to it. Long lashes rested above sharp cheekbones, as thick and black as the mane of hair fanning out around his head. His full lips parted, giving her a glimpse at white teeth.

  As she watched, his eyes cracked open and she saw their rich, gold-amber color. His breath caught in his throat the instant he focused on her and he blinked, his dark brows coming together. Ilyssa heard a dry click as he swallowed.

  “Who are you?” he rasped, almost in wonder.

  “Ilyssa,” she replied, and then cursed herself inwardly for revealing her true identity.

  Part of the plan had included not using their own names around their captive. She knew she would get an earful from Kristof on that little mistake.

  “Ilyssa...”

  The way the prince repeated her name made her shiver, like hearing a holy man whisper a sacred benediction.

  He started to move but stopped when the chain rattled. Still lethargic, he raised his bound hands and blinked at them. He looked around and then back to Ilyssa, confused.

  “Where am I?” His strength began to return and he surged up, staggering as he gained his feet.

  Ilyssa backed away from him quickly.

  He brought his hands to his neck and hissed the instant he touched the collar. “Wh-what is this?”

  “A little safety precaution,” Ilyssa said. “Comes in handy when dealing with your kind. As long as you wear it, you won’t have any special advantages – you’ll be just like the rest of us.”

  The prince growled in frustration. “Do you know who I am?” he demanded.

  Ilyssa sprang just out of his
reach when he lurched toward her, her boot knife in her fist again as she went into a defensive stance.

  “Yes, I know who you are,” she said. “You’re Prince Alaric of Lobishome.” She looked him right in those gleaming, golden eyes. “You’re also the First Son of Mardell – Ruler of the Werewolf Kingdom.”

  “Then you know the price you will pay for holding me here,” Alaric said, and added for good measure, “Human bitch.”

  While she knew he meant to unsettle her with the racial slur, Ilyssa did not allow it to faze her. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

  “Careful, Your Highness,” she said, keeping her voice soft and level while her heart threatened to hammer its way out of her bosom – and not out of fear. She wondered if he could still hear it despite the collar dampening his natural abilities.

  “Given your late night sojourn away from home, unguarded, I would have to guess that no one in the kingdom even knows where you are, right now.”

  She tilted her head.

  “So, why would the Werewolf Prince be on his way to the Human kingdom of Emberi, all alone and under cover of darkness?”

  “That,” he snapped, “is none of your business.”

  “Hm. Perhaps you’re right.”

  She tucked her knife back into her boot and retrieved her coat from the floor where Kristof had abandoned it.

  “But I wonder what your father would say, seeing as how Emberi is the sworn enemy of Lobishome.”

  Rolling her shoulders, Ilyssa turned to go.

  “I’ll have someone bring you some breakfast in a bit. In the meantime, you should probably make yourself comfortable.”

  She glanced back at him. “You’re going to be with us for a while.”

  She could still hear him snarling as she closed the door behind her. Her heart continued to pound inside her breast. No, this feeling did not come from being afraid. It came from another place, entirely. A place of desire.

  Chapter Two

  With Kristof and Barto off trying to find a way to get Prince Alaric back home, Ilyssa had decided she needed some time away from their captive, as well. She had avoided going to look in on him throughout the day. She needed to clear her head. Unfortunately, she could not dislodge the memory of the instant she first looked into those golden eyes, nor could she remove the image of them from her mind. They even invaded her dreams when she tried to catch a nap in the afternoon. Unable to sleep, she had taken a sojourn to the hot springs not far from camp, and had soaked for a bit in the warm, soothing waters.

  Ilyssa had returned, somewhat refreshed and relaxed, to find supper preparations underway. She twisted her wet hair up into a messy bun, donned a loose-fitting blouse, leather waist cincher, soft doeskin trousers and her well-worn boots before deciding to pay a visit to the hut that served as the camp kitchen.

  “Good evening, Lorena,” Ilyssa said, smiling. “How goes it?”

  “It goes,” Lorena said.

  The tribe’s head cook, a handsome woman and Kristof’s wife of many years, stood at a table chopping wild turnips.

  Ilyssa gave a word of thanks when Lorena offered her a slice of the vegetable.

  Lorena paused to brush a stray lock of red hair from her forehead with the back of her wrist. “Although you should know that our esteemed guest has refused both breakfast and midday meals.”

  By now, word had circulated around the camp that they had abducted a member of the royal family instead of the ambassador to Lobishome. This had caused some dissention among the tribal members, some going too far as to proclaim their intention to break rank and leave the group out of fear of the retribution King Mardell would unleash upon them all. For the most part, everyone agreed to continue to conduct their lives around camp as usual, and to treat the prince as they would any other prisoner.

  Munching on the piece of turnip, Ilyssa frowned. “Oh?” She wiped her mouth with her fingers. “What, did he not touch the plates at all?”

  Lorena huffed out a dry laugh. “Oh, he ‘touched’ them, all right.” She glanced up at Ilyssa. “Picked them up and flung them at the wall. Both times. Called the fried sausages and eggs ‘repulsive’ and the roast game hen pie ‘disgusting.’”

  “Well, he’s only depriving himself of some of the finest food in all the land,” Ilyssa said, and that earned her a smile.

  Still, it gave her cause for concern. Did the prince think he could deprive himself out of protest? It would certainly make their situation all the worse if they returned him half-dead from lack of nourishment. Or could there be some alternative reason for his refusal to eat?

  Another possible motive began to take shape in her mind, and a determined smile formed on her lips.

  “I think I may know how to solve this problem.”

  “You’ll save us a lot of wasted food and broken crockery, if you can do that.”

  Shaking her head, Lorena returned to her chopping. “But to be on the safe side, if you plan to serve him tonight you might want to take a broom along. You’re going to have a mess to sweep up, if His Highness finds supper not up to his lofty standards.”

  “I don’t think it has anything to do with his station,” Ilyssa said. “No matter what else he may be, first and foremost he is a Werewolf.”

  “So?”

  “So,” Ilyssa went on, “it might not be a matter of taste.”

  She walked around to stand next to fire pit, where one of Lorena’s helpers tended to a leg of venison roasting over the flames on a spit.

  “You’ve been feeding him cooked meat.” She looked back at Lorena. “I think Werewolves can only eat meat when it’s raw.”

  Lorena stopped again. She blinked at Ilyssa in surprise. “Is that what it is?”

  Ilyssa shrugged. “Only one way to find out.”

  Chapter Three

  An hour later, Ilyssa stood outside the door to the makeshift prison cell, holding two covered bowls and a wine skin hanging from her neck.

  “All right, Marten,” she said, and tossed her head. “You’re relieved of duty. Open the door for me, and then go join the others for supper.”

  Marten motioned to the bowls and grinned. “He’s just going to-“

  “Yeah, I know what he did, before,” Ilyssa said, cutting her friend off in mid-sentence. “Don’t worry, the only place this food is going is down his gullet.” She lowered her voice. “Even if I have to force it down there.”

  “You’re a brave one, Ilyssa,” Marten said with a chuckle, and opened the door. “Good luck, all the same.”

  With night falling, a lamp had been lit and hung inside the small hut. Ilyssa saw Alaric sitting on the bedroll, leaning back against the wall with one long leg bent at the knee and his shackled hands lying in his lap.

  He lifted his head when she entered. His eyes picked up the dim light and made them glow like embers, the only part of him she could see clearly as his hair, dark trousers, black boots, and deep red shirt tended to blend in with the shadows.

  Ilyssa offered a smile. “Your Majesty,” she said by way of greeting. “I thought you might be hungry, especially after I heard that you had refused to eat all day.”

  He grunted and turned away, his handsome face partially obscured by the curtain of his disheveled black hair.

  “I found it…unappetizing,” he said.

  “I think you’ll find this more to your liking.” Ilyssa uncovered one of the bowls and slid it over to him.

  His hands shot out to catch the dish, his reflexes quick despite the shackles; without the collar, Ilyssa knew she would not have seen him move at all, as Werewolves had the reputation for being gifted with preternatural speed and dexterity.

  Alaric sniffed the dish’s contents, cautious, and then looked up at her again with a blink of surprise. “This venison. It’s – it’s uncooked.”

  “Which is how you like it,” Ilyssa said. “Am I right?”

  He regarded the food again, and shook his head as if in disbelief. “Yes” he replied softly. “I…” He
trailed off and instead gave a humble bow of his head. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” Internally, Ilyssa felt a rush of satisfaction. She had guessed correctly about the food.

  “Can’t have you starving yourself while you’re here. You’re already lean enough as it is.” She chuckled and motioned to herself. “As you can see by looking at me, I never miss a meal. Don’t let these plush curves fool you, though – I may look soft, but I can be pretty hard in other ways. I’m sure some of my comrades would say ‘hard-headed.’ Which I can be, from time to time.”

  She had a reason for the light-hearted approach. If she could get into Alaric’s good graces – even while keeping him collared and chained to a wall – she stood a chance of ensuring some leniency toward the tribe once he returned to his kingdom.

  For his part, the prince did favor her with a faint smile. “An armful is quite often better than a handful,” he said.

  Ilyssa raised an eyebrow at his choice of words, made all the more eloquent by his well-bred manner of speaking. That was a compliment, she thought, amazed, and felt her face go warm with the flush of pleasure. All right, she chastised herself, don’t let his pretty looks and charming tongue get the better of you. You’re supposed to be winning him over.

  Casually, Ilyssa took a seat on the floor. “I hope you don’t mind if I join you,” she said, and indicated her own dish. “Mine’s cooked, of course.”

  “Of course,” he said. “And no, I don’t mind.” He looked down into his bowl. “Although I doubt it would matter if I did, seeing as I am your prisoner and therefore have no choice.”

  Ilyssa felt her mood deflate. She popped a chunk of roasted carrot into her mouth and chewed.

  “All things considered,” she said as she chewed, “can you blame us for erring on the side of caution?”

  She swallowed and then jerked her chin.

  “Your father would have us hunted down pack-style and torn to pieces if he finds out we’re holding you here. Even if we were to release you right now and let you go on your own free will, there’s nothing to guarantee we won’t meet with that same fate.” Shrugging, she leaned back against the doorjamb. “So we’re at an impasse.”