ROMANCE: PARANORMAL ROMANCE: Coveted by the Werewolves (Paranormal MMF Bisexual Menage Romance) (New Adult Shifter Romance Short Stories)

by Hawke, Jessa

  “How come you speak with such a tongue? Just look at you, it doesn’t look like you’ve been living a dream. You look terrible and you... smell even worse.”

  “You and Geor...” Isabel held her head in her hands while she cried, “I don’t even want to mention his name. He put me through hell.”

  “How can you accuse him of this? We tracked you down to save you from Edward.”

  “I was running from George, Father. Edward saved me. He is the gentleman to George’s monster.”

  “George? A monster? How so? The poor man... he has been worried to death! Edward left him to die in a field drain.”

  “All George was worried about was the truth.”

  “The truth? If you mean the argument between the both of you. He told me he had got a little drunk and perhaps his tongue was loose.”

  “George forced himself upon me when we were travelling to his parents. Edward saved me.”

  “Ah... but still. I’m sure you can talk things through. You do love each other, after all.”

  “Father? Does the fact he forced himself, not mean anything to you?”

  “Men are men. Have a few whiskies and we become like rutting stags. If we’re not fighting with one another we’re mounting anything that presents itself.”

  “Father..?”

  “Sorry. I had a sip while waiting to see you.”

  “For God’s sake.” Isabel shook her head. “I’m surrounded with drunkards.”

  “I know George is a good man.”

  “He is not. I never wish to see him again. Now, I demand to see Edward at once.”

  The door opened and in walked George, wiping blood from his hands with a cloth. “Sorry, I’m afraid that isn’t possible.”

  “What have you done to him?”

  “What has he done to you? I’m sure I overheard you defending the brute. He is nothing but a lowlife scum.”

  “He is of higher morals than you. I can assure you.”

  George shrugged his shoulders. “Anyway, he has been handed over to the police. I’m sure he’ll be among his own company once he is in jail.”

  “What for?”

  “Kidnap of course.”

  “I went willingly.” Isabel ran for the door. “I must tell them quick.” But George blocked her path.

  “Now stop it. Pull yourself together, Woman. I’ve missed you, and glad to have you back. You can at least show the same respect.”

  “Respect? Respect? You lost my respect because you never showed me any. Not to mention tried to shoot Edward. Now get out of the way.”

  “No. I can’t until you regain control of yourself. You’re acting like an emotional little girl.”

  “Move out the way, you beast.”

  Albert tried to step in between the warring pair. “Come on Isabel... stop making a scene. I’m sure you can both work it out. We’re all adults.”

  “No. I demand to see Edward. At once.”

  George placed a hand on each of Isabel’s shoulders. “I demand that you forget that man at once.”

  “Take your filthy hands of me.”

  “Isabel, please.”

  “I’ll never forget Edward”

  “You have no choice.”

  “I’ll never live with you, never be with you. I don’t want to. As far as I’m concerned... you can rot in hell.”

  Albert found the situation too distressing. “I think we all need to calm down here. There is no need for this behaviour from the both of you.” He gazed at George. “I think the wedding is off.”

  “I want the ring back.”

  “Isabel? Hand the ring back to George.”

  “How do you think I paid for the crossing?”

  George raised his arm as if to strike Isabel, “Why you ungrateful whore.”

  Albert stood in the way of George, and gripped his forearm. “I’ll reimburse the cost... just to see the back of you. I mean it. Go and work for Lord Craven. You’re suited for one another. Both slimy worthless toads. Now, be gone with you.”

  “Albert, Old Boy? Have you not seen how she just disrespected me?”

  “I have now realised that I was wrong to accept your proposal.”

  George appeared lost for words while staring at Albert. “You’ll regret those words.”

  “I mean it. It’s more than clear to me that you’re both not right for each other.”

  “I want to be fully compensated for the lost ring.”

  “I told you already. I shall pay back each and every penny.”

  “I’m glad it’s over... she’d as frigid as a penguin’s backside.” George shook his head before walking away. “Good riddance... To the both of you.”

  ~

  Isabel barged into the interview where Edward lay like a bloodied pulp. Tears streamed down her cheeks while she fell at his side. “Oh, Edward, what has he done to you?”

  “Nothing that can’t be put right.”

  “The beast.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Gone.”

  Albert peered around the door, and then winced at the sight of Edward. “I will go and find a doctor.”

  Chapter 14

  With the sound of wedding bells fresh in his ears, Edward took Isabel into his arms. “I think tradition calls for me to carry you over the threshold of the home.”

  “Absolutely.” The gathered crowd cheered as Isabel jumped into Edward’s arms. “I’ve been waiting for his moment... to be married to a man I love”

  ~

  Isabel drew the bedroom curtains closed before chuckling at the feeling of Edward hugging her from behind. She leaned back against his solid body while a sense of excitement flitted inside as his roaming hands began to explore.

  Her flimsy nightdress made her feel naked under his touch, driving her excitement. The moment his hands slipped under her garment Isabel breathed deeper with every breath, every brush of his hands. The feeling of his fingernails softly raking her naked stomach sent erotic sensations tingling through her body.

  Isabel felt disappointed when Edward withdrew his hands. Wanting to continue she turned to face her man. Resting her lips against his, feeling his excitement she pushed him towards the bed.

  Feeling Edward push the straps of the nightdress towards the end of her shoulder and suddenly stopping, Isabel nodded, and then let the nightdress fall to the floor.

  Despite her innocence she felt confident in her undressed state and remained comfortable in Edward’s presence.

  Edward took Isabel by her hand and laid her gently onto the soft bed amongst the mass of velvet pillows and cushions. He then began to worship his love with his lips, tasting and tracing her body with his tongue.

  Isabel closed her eyes so she could focus on the bliss. She quietly groaned under touch and felt herself break free.

  Lying under Edward, Isabel guided him to what he longed for. She then wrapped herself around him never wanting to let go.

  In the darkness of the candlelit bedroom Isabel’s heart burned intensely. A wide smile adorned her face as she peered deeply into her lover’s affectionate eyes. She quivered to the touch of her husband while embraced in his arms. In silence she rested her head on his chest where she listened contently to his beating heart.

  THE END

  The Westward Bride

  Had you told me I’d lift up stakes and move to Chase, California, I’d have called you a plain fool. Such a notion as distant, transcontinental travel has never appealed to me, to be quite honest. My neighbors have often commented on my homebody nature to my father while doing business.

  “How is your Minnie, today, Joseph?” A customer might have asked my father not so long ago, while placing his order for flour, molasses, and other sundries.

  I carry in my mind a warm picture of my beloved father in his long, shopkeeper’s apron standing behind his counter, unhurriedly putting the order together. There is never cause for hurry in the company of old friends and with good conversation at the ready, he was fond of saying. “
Same as ever, I should imagine. Buried in her books, disinterested in the wider world.” They might then share a laugh and afterwards speak of much more interesting matters of the world within Brooklyn, assess the economy, or comment on the progress on the building of the Panama Canal. All topics were of interest at Wilson’s Dry Goods, and if I were lucky enough to be part of the conversation, father would tolerate my views in instances in which other men would expect women to be seen and not heard.

  I loved him for his kind heart and open mind. I miss him every day.

  I will confess, with some small degree of shame, that the idea that I prefer confinement within my own four walls would have been a far too accurate image of your narrator. I have, until now, lived much of my life in my own imagination. It had never been my expectation that adventure would find me, nor that I would do more than marry, attend church, raise children, and die an old woman in Long Island like so many generations before me.

  I often felt that father and mother wished me to live beyond the confines of our rooms. Two of their four children set out to fight for the great cause of our time; one came back after the Union had been saved. My sister, Ida, died tragically young and within days of my mother being carried off by consumption.

  It was in the summer of 1879 that my father died peacefully in his sleep, leaving only my brother James and his young wife Anna Belle for me to live with. I fear that my nature has never been compatible with my elder brother’s. It was after a particularly heated debate some weeks after my father’s funeral that Anna Belle took me aside for a discreet conversation.

  “Minnie, James loves you. You do know this?”

  “I suppose. He has an uncommon way of expressing such love!” I was still quite red in the face after our row. His insinuations against the writings and character of Mr. Thoreau had quite unnerved me, as well he knows the author to be a personal hero of mine.

  She sat me down at the small kitchen table in the family home, an intimate setting for private discussions, away from the much grander dining table in the adjacent room. My brother had taken to his heels following our conversation, no doubt to walk off his own upset through numerous laps around our block.

  “Listen,” Annabelle said softly, holding a magazine in her hand. “I don’t wish you to think me too bold in what I say, but it strikes me that this arrangement will only result in heartache for you both. Living in the shadow of your father in this house has soured both your temperaments. I wanted you to know that I am talking to James about selling the house. I’d like for us to move closer to my parents in Indiana.”

  This came as quite a surprise to me, I can tell you, and I recall my eyes flying wide open at the suggestion. “Oh! But the business? What will come of it? And… and… I don’t know anything about Indiana. I don’t know if I’d be comfortable there.”

  She looked pained and sighed. “You are welcome to join us, of course. You are family, and you have no one else here, so we will not abandon you to the world. But, dear,” and here she took both my hands in hers. “You are pretty and young. Will you not make some effort towards meeting with suitors?”

  I will confess to you, reader, that I had made no such effort. The men of Brooklyn are of a good nature, have decent upbringings, and are not uncomely to look upon. However, I had hoped to maintain my independence for a few more years. At 22, I felt that I was far too young for marriage. Though it is, to be certain, fine for many a young woman even younger than I was, I could not see it suiting my character well. And there is another matter that I hesitate to mention.

  I don’t consider myself homely, but I am, and there is no kind way to say this, extraordinarily tall. It is a fact that when I stand, I tower over the vast majority of men of my Brooklyn. For that reason alone, I have seen far less interest cast in my direction than a girl could hope for. It can be rather demoralizing.

  “Are you familiar with this magazine?” She passed to me a volume of Ladies’ Monthly Chronicle. I admitted to her that though I had seen it, I had never pursued its contents. She directed me to the back.

  “Here you may find many good gentlemen correspondents eager to meet a woman if pure heart and suitable character. My own friend Myrna Highgate took to corresponding with a man who had sought his fortune in Colorado. They have a pleasant life, with many children and all the bounty that country has to offer.”

  It was the “many children” that gave me cause. No doubt I spoke stiffly when I took up the magazine and assured her I would give it thought. In truth, I did not for a good week afterwards. But curiosity got the better of me and soon I did find I was in conversation with a man by the name of Eli W. Pierce. Even after enough time had elapsed that I felt comfortable attempting a new life in his promised haven of California, I could not suspect that we would find love while coming so close to dying in each other’s arms.

  My Dearest Minnie,

  My heart fairly races to know that soon you will be on your way to be with me. It’s my greatest wish that you should be happy and safe here by my side as soon as possible.

  There is much I look forward to acquainting you with in Chase. We are situated on the banks of a gentle river aptly named the Feather a tributary of the Sacramento, that great northern, winding ribbon of water in the center of our broad valley. We have a fair view of mountains within this basin, a panorama I hope you will come to love.

  These are settled lands, though you may have heard otherwise. As we have discussed, I came here with my father and his brothers who sought their fortunes in the waning years of the rush. I have seen much change to these lands in that time. Instead of growing their wealth through mining, the families instead helped pioneer Chase, and in this way we have become the respectable family of the town. I think you’ll be pleased by the sophistication to be found in even such a small town as this.

  I’ll not go on and on with this letter. It is enough to know that I will see you soon. I hope that you are delighted in meeting me as I have been by the photograph and locket you have sent

  ahead.

  Yours,

  Elias

  I looked over the letter once more time before carefully tucking it away in my bag. The ship lurched suddenly, causing me and the other passengers below decks to gasp in fear. I heard them shifting in their seats, and worrying to one another.

  “Have you ever seen such a storm!” I was seated next to a woman dressed all in pink and black named Ida Beaumont. She was looking most distressed. The poor young thing had been looking exceptionally green in tint since the Samuel B. Thompson had picked her up in New Orleans. I had also struggled with the stomach upset initially, but somewhere off the Carolinas I became much more comfortable.

  “It is to be remembered.” I remarked.

  “To be remembered, should we survive it.” She responded, miserably. At this, I clucked my tongue disapprovingly.

  “We must be made of sterner stuff, Ida! Where we go, the pioneers are putting down their stakes, turning the rough land into fields and orchards. It’ll be fine. Put your faith in that.” I didn’t entirely believe my own words, but I suspected we’d be all right. I had chanced to pass a sailor on my way to the sitting rooms, and he looked as carefree during the worst of it as a child at play. I imagine the time to worry in such situations is when the expert is in clear fear for his life.

  I had hoped that perhaps my friend would find her constitution by the time we reached the Canal, but it was not to be. For my part, I marveled at the astonishing feat of engineering, a testament to man’s ingenuity even in the malarial climes. Fortunately for a few of my passengers, I had secured a good supply of quinine prior to our journey. Though it was never my intent, I made a small profit in selling of much of this medicine to those who could afford the purchase and insisted upon reimbursing me, as I did not become ill. I was not entirely industrious, as a few who could not afford full reimbursement were given my medicines for free. At any rate Ida’s sickness seemed to be entirely of the sea-going variety.

  We were
struck by yet another massive blast from the fierce waves, and a few of our companions tumbled to the carpet. I allowed Ida to brace against me and held her so she wouldn’t end up in a heap with the others.

  I found that despite the terrors of the sea and the rumor that we risked being dashed upon the rocks of the Baja Peninsula, I was surprised to find I was having the time of my life. Never before had I or any member of my family ventured so far south or west on the globe! Whatever the life ahead had in store for me- and I did presume I’d arrive, my companions grim words notwithstanding- providence had given me the chance to see the world in a way so few had done, or perhaps ever would again. I knew it would be without propriety to do so, but I excused myself and made my way along the wildly sloping hallways to a stairwell I knew of. It would lead to the deck, and I felt a sudden desire to take in the air.

  It wasn’t possible to step a foot on deck, no matter my efforts, but I was able to lift my head and body above the deck itself and look out. The scene was one of the most astonishing that I have ever laid eyes upon. As we pitched and were tossed about in the storm, I could just make out the shape of the Mexican shoreline through ropes of lashing rain. I was soaked through the moment I had ascended the stairs, and I could just make out a lone sailor not far from my post, trying his best to reach the stern. He was gripping the railing with a steely strength, not unlike my own efforts to maintain my place on the stairwell. Above us, the sky was the grey of iron, and with each up and down upon the water, I thought I knew somewhat what Odysseus felt on his return to Ithaca. I do not fancy myself a heroine in the mold of Diana. But I do know what it feels like to be held captive by the sea, and that it is to give one’s future over to nature and the uncontrollable wilds.