by Clara Moore
“I’m no angel, but that’s sweet of you to think so,” she said as she walked to the door to shut out the lights. “Goodnight, Baby Bears. You sleep tight, and I’ll keep the monsters away.”
***
Cecelia didn’t sleep well. Her room was on the far side of the cabin, away from the family so that she could have her privacy. There was no noise; silence surrounded her. Coming from the clamor of the city, perhaps it was the silence that unsettled her sleep, filling it with terror.
She kept having nightmares, first of her brother fighting in his war, and then she was in a dark room, black like tar, with men’s voices surrounding her, hushed like whispers. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but their whispers danced around her like a den of snakes.
She woke groggy, but she was glad to be awake. The early dawn was a relief. There was nothing to fear. The world was as it should be. Needing coffee, Cecelia threw on her purple flannel and went to the kitchen. The family would rise soon – first the kids then the parents. Leaning against the kitchen counter with the mug of coffee next to her cheek, she breathed in her last moments of peace before the day really started.
The peace lasted a lot longer than she expected. The kids should be up causing a ruckus by now, hitting their little paws against the pots and pans as she made them scrambled eggs and toast. Afraid they were bouncing around on their beds or tossing their toys around like confetti, she went to check on them, but they weren’t there, so she searched the rest of the house.
“Where are you hiding, Baby Bears?” she called, pulling the curtain back from the sliding glass door that led out onto the porch.
There was nothing, only the unsettling silence.
Deciding they must be with their parents, she knocked on the bedroom door, expecting Diana to shout at the kids to go leave with their CeCe, but again – nothing. Risking the embarrassment, she opened the door. The room was empty.
Cecelia wasn’t the type to frighten easily. Anger often preceded her fear when trouble presented itself, but not this time. Something was wrong. Very wrong. The part of her that wanted everything to be okay tried to convince her that the family had gone for an early walk or were fishing for their breakfast, but she pushed the nonsense away. Families on vacation didn’t rise before the sun, not when little kids were involved.
To be sure, she ran outside to where the minivan was parked in the drive. It was still there, glinting silver in the sunlight. That wasn’t all. Embedded in the hard mud was a fresh set of tire tracks – tracks that had not been there the day before.
Overcome with emotion, Cecelia fell to her knees in the mud. The family was gone, stolen in the night.
***
Chapter Two
“Barry,” Cecelia sputtered to the operator. “Barry Conrad.”
She was calling her brother’s base in god only knew where. His missions were kept secret, untraceable, but there was always an emergency line.
The operator put her on hold. “I’m sorry,” he said when he returned. “Barry Conrad is in the middle of a meeting.”
“But I need him. Now. It’s an emergency.”
Of course it was an emergency. She wouldn’t be calling if it wasn’t. Why couldn’t the operator understand that?
“Would you like to leave a message?”
“Yeah. The message is get my brother. I’m out in the middle of nowhere. The family I work for has been kidnapped, and I don’t know–”
“Did you say kidnapped?” the operator asked.
“Yes. Kidnapped.”
“Hold on.”
Holding on was the one thing she was trying desperately to do. And she was failing. Images of the triplets being held captive kept wrenching at her heart.
“CeCe, I’m here,” Barry said, coming on the line. “What’s wrong?”
She explained everything to him. The conversation was not calm. She spoke rapidly, her hysteria rising. “Can you come?” she asked when she was finished.
“I’m thousands of miles away,” he reminded her. “And I’m in the middle of an important operation.”
“More important than saving the Johannssons?”
“That’s not fair.”
She didn’t apologize. “I have no choice but to go to the police.”
“Don’t do that,” he directed sternly. “If this is a bear issue, there’ll be hell to pay.”
Cecelia never understood that – why the world of shifters had to stay so secret. Being a bear was as natural as being a human.
“Listen,” Barry said, “I’m going to send someone who can help. His name is Marcus Sanders. He’s an old military buddy of mine. He’s in the next state over, so he can be to you in a few hours. Wait for him.”
“What if they come back?” she asked. “Whoever they are.”
“Run,”Barry told her without hesitation. “Keep your ears open and trust your instincts. No one has sharper instincts than you, sis. If you think trouble is headed your way, you run.”
***
Waiting was torture. She didn’t know what to do with herself. After pacing madly around the drive, listening to every little noise, she finally settled inside on a rocking chair that overlooked the front of the house. Pulling a blue knitted blanket over her flannel shirt for comfort, she stood watch.
None of it made sense. Why would someone kidnap an entire family? The only thing she could think of was that Mr. Johannsson had worked a legal case that pissed off one of his clients.
Oh god... if Michael hiccupped and shifted into a bear...
She couldn’t think about it, so she rocked in the chair, waiting and wondering. Why didn’t they take me?
By the time the sun hung low in the sky, Cecelia gave up hope anyone was coming to help. Then she saw headlights sweep across the window, dim in the fading light. She’d given her brother the location of the cabin, but she forgot to ask what this Marcus guy looked like. It was a mistake. For all she knew, the kidnappers had returned.
Abruptly, she shot up from the rocking chair and slid behind the sofa. It was a poor hiding spot, but it was better than waiting out in the open for dangers unknown. A car door slammed shut outside, and she heard footsteps on the porch. Soon after, the front door opens.
I forgot to lock it! She realized, sickened as she peeked from behind the sofa.
The man who walked in was no soldier. He was built like one, with strong arms that ripped through his T-shirt, but he was unruly, with mass tattoos down those strong, tanned arms and dark hair that, though short, was undisciplined. Her instincts told her he was the rebellious, fly free type. Her brother was the exact opposite. He lived for structure and authority. That’s how soldiers stayed alive.
A strange déjà vu sensation ripped through her, and she quietly fell back down behind the sofa, her heart racing. He was probably going to kill her, but all she could fixate on was how sexy the guy was.
Don’t be an idiot, she scolded herself silently. He’s not here to help you. He’s here to hurt you.
“Cecelia,” the man said from somewhere nearby. “Come out from behind the sofa. It’s me, Marcus. Your brother sent me.” There was an impatience to his tone, like he was berating a child, but she didn’t care. She was just glad he was someone good, even though he looked so bad.
“The sofa, really?” he asked when she appeared. “You should have gone for the gun cabinet.”
“Be happy I didn’t,” she returned. “Thank you for coming.”
“I was obligated to,” he stated, sounding very much like he didn’t want to be there. “Tell me, where is this family of yours?”
“If I knew, I wouldn’t need you.”
“Oh, you need me, honey,” he said, his brown eyes serious. “But probably only to talk sense into you. What makes you think they were kidnapped? Your brother filled me in on most of the details, but I’m not convinced. A hundred things could have happened here. They could be out teaching the kiddos to hunt like bears, or there could have been an emergency and they’re a
t the hospital, or they’re stuck in a tree somewhere.”
She rolled her eyes, frustrated. This was not a time forbear humor. “Trust me, something’s wrong. They would have told me if any of those things were happening.”
He still wasn’t convinced. “Hate to break it to you, but you’re just the help. You’re the last on the list of–” Marcus stopped and went to the fireplace.
“What is it?” she asked, joining him.
He gently placed his hand behind her back, protective, and pointed with his other hand above the mantle.
“I don’t understand,” she said, surprised by how familiar and intimate his touch felt.
“The carving in the wood. It’s the symbol of the Bear Hunters. Was it here when you arrived?”
Now she understood. Shocked, she stared at the squiggles in the wall that formed the symbol. It looked like a primitive sun, something seen on a tribal painting. “I don’t know,” she told him. “It’s been too warm to light the fire.”
“No bear would sleep here if it was,” he claimed, his expression like steel. “This is trouble.”
He was finally giving the situation the attention it deserved, but it was no comfort to Cecelia. It was worse than she could have imagined. Bear Hunters were lethal. With a knot in her gut, she traced her hand across the carving. “That’s why they didn’t take me. I’m no bear.”
“Good thing I am,” he disclosed. “I can try to track them.”
It meant he’d face the Bear Hunters on his own, but she didn’t protest. The triplets were out there. Inhaling deeply, Marcus took in the scent of the family, and then he went outside. She followed him and stood on the porch.
“What can I do?”
“Wait here,” he instructed, and then he changed, becoming a large black bear with the same unruliness as his human form. Growling into the twilight to make his superior strength known, he sniffed the air, matching the family’s scent better than a bloodhound, and he charged off, leaving her alone in the cabin once more.
***
Bear Hunters. She couldn’t believe it. Cecelia had heard stories of them growing up, they were the monsters that haunted the dreams of bear shifters, but she never thought she’d encounter them as an adult. They weren’t prevalent. They hid in dark, twisted corners around the world, following their warped ethos. The Bear Hunters believed all bear shifters should go extinct. It was their prerogative to see that happen, but she didn’t know why. What she did know was that though their numbers were dwindling, forcing them to travel around in small bands that operated like a network, they were powerful. They succeeded more than they failed. Much more.
And they had the Johannssons.
Hours passed. Realizing it had been almost a full day since the family disappeared, Cecelia refused to wait any longer. She may not be a bear, but neither were the hunters. She wanted to fight. It was a trait her and her brother shared.
She headed out into the woods in the same direction Marcus had. His paw prints were heavy against the ground, evidence of his enormous size. As she followed them, she was attentive to her surroundings. Far into the woods, she felt the burden of eyes on her, like she had the day before. Somebody watched her, but they did not strike.
“Marcus, where are you?” she whispered, tightening her flannel around her.
She found him alone under a large oak that dominated the forest around it. Still in his bear form, he lay unmoving, a spear pierced deep within his back. Stifling a cry, Cecelia ran to him and passed a hand over his heavy fur, not knowing what to do. He was so still... She set her hand near his snout, praying she would feel his warm breath upon her hand.
There was nothing.
End of the sample, you can read the rest of the book by clicking on the cover or by going to this link.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Clara Moore is a Canadian born Romance writer that currently lives between Toronto and Albuquerque. She has always had an interest in animals as well as love stories. She started her career as a reporter for wildlife magazines and decided that the stories needed a little enhancement to become truly hers. Since them she writes paranormal romance books.
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The Duke Settles Down
By: Julia Regan
The Duke Settles Down
“What about Lady Marcosa? I hear that divorce has almost been settled.” The guffaws of laughter following the statement were a testament to the divorce that had been ‘almost settled’ for the greater part of a decade.
Grayson Dawkins, the Duke of Hayward did not appreciate his friends belittling the fact that he did have to marry, and in just under a fortnight now. He had wasted the first two weeks by trying to circumvent the atrocity that he would now have to commit – marriage.
Grayson (or Hayward, as almost everyone in this world referred to him as since he had obtained the distinguished title) was part of a business venture in the newfound steam engine business. As was the case in most aspects of his life, he never did things half way. He believed in the cause and the product that would eventually become a household reference. However, not everyone believed in the same cause, or at least, not to that extreme. Because of such doubters, the other two partners in the venture had reason to suspect that his interest was fleeting and that his cash flow was not dependable, especially as a single man of his thirty-three years.
“What about the Earl of Treal’s niece? Isn’t she coming of age soon?” Christoph Maclan, the second son of the Duke of Windsor, retorted. The already-laughing group started to chortle with a glee that did not impress Grayson. Idiots, the lot of them, his subconscious grumbled.
“She’s nigh on ten years now, and you know that, Maclan.” Grayson’s low- toned baritone rumbled threateningly.
To be fair, had this been any other of his friends he would’ve joined right in. However, this was not a request made by his partners, but rather a demand. A single male was fickle until settled in the shackles of marriage. Add to that his impressive title, and it was indeed suspicious that he had not claimed a women to be his duchess.
Truth be told, his parents had a cold marriage and he had wanted no part of that. Understanding that, at some point, he’d have to lay claim to a woman, he had put that off for years successfully. Until now.
He heard his ‘friends’ referring to Simon Baker, a retired court jester that had a known preference of the male variety, and decided he’d had enough.
“Out,” he ordered. He shoved their shoulders in the direction of the door.
Christoph quipped back with half his body shoved out the heavy wood slab, “They never said whether it needed to be a lady, Hayward. I’ve got a rather attractive chamber maid looking for…new opportunities.”
Hearing the laughing continue down the street, he shoved the door closed and threw the latch across. His butler, Herron, was standing by as usual.
“I’m not home, Herron,” he commanded.
The stoic white-haired butler simply inclined his head and resumed his position. It was good to have people that actually listened to you. There were too few of those in his group of friends, regardless of his lofty title.
Headed back towards his study, he recalled Christoph’s words. The man was an imbecile, but he did have a point. His partners had not specified who his wife should be, or even her station in life. They had only cared about his status as a bachelor and a rake.
Luckily his father has passed on years ago, otherwise he’d be having an apoplexy at the thought of marriage in the family to someone with
out an adequate bloodline. Grayson didn’t care himself what station his wife would be, but he did have a reputation to uphold. There were be parties and children, and he had to consider someone who would make at least somewhat of a respectable duchess.
That being said, Grayson was desperate. If he found a strong, normal, reasonably attractive woman that just happened to not be royalty or a highborn lady, he knew that it was worth the chance.
He sat heavily down in his worn, brown leather chair and reached for the invitations for this evening. There was a ball at Lady Acalade’s, but that usually included an ‘impromptu’ musicale that deafened his ears for the next three days. There was an intimate gather at the Chancellor Jones’, but he was not in the mood to talk politics and reformation.
The last invitation in his stack was to the Count Rutherford’s soiree. Notably garish and forward, the Count had not made a vast number of true friends in his time here in England, but he was known for throwing incredible parties.
With a good number of eligible women, he reminded himself. There would be shortage of attractive females ripe for the picking.
“Herron,” he bellowed. When the aged butler appeared in the doorway with a questioning brow, he ordered, “Get Taylor to set out my gray and red. I have a dinner party to attend.”
Herron disappeared with a click of the heels and Grayson sat back to contemplate his plan of attack.
***
“Greer, you can’t be serious. It’s Rutherford’s soiree. They’ll be music and dancing and plenty of men,” Greer’s sister, Addy, giggled.
She sighed. “Addy, I love you. But sometimes you have a head full of cotton. Father would never let us go even if I wanted to.”