A Christmas Spectacle to Bear

by Jennifer Hilt

  A Christmas Spectacle to Bear

  Icy Cap Den

  Jennifer Hilt

  Contents

  Introduction

  Preface

  1. Lea

  2. Caleb

  3. Lea

  4. Caleb

  5. Lea

  6. Caleb

  7. Lea

  8. Caleb

  9. Lea

  10. Caleb

  11. Caleb

  12. Lea

  13. Caleb

  14. Lea

  15. Caleb

  Epilogue

  Sneak Peak at “His to Bear” Icy Cap Den #1

  About the Author

  More Alaskan Den Men Stories

  Copyright © 2016 by Jennifer Hilt

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Introduction

  Introduction to the Alaskan Den Men World

  The Alaskan Den Men are some of the hottest werebears you’ve ever encountered. These gruff and growling shifters live and hunt in four different dens throughout the backwoods of Alaska.

  And the Alaskan outback has never been so wild! Because these rugged alpha males are about to meet their mates—some seriously sexy and sassy heroines who live to bring out the beast in their men.

  All Werebears…All Alaska

  Sign up for the ADM Newsletter and join the ADM Facebook fan group here: The Alaskan Denettes. We encourage regular sightings of chiseled man chests. It’s a fun place to stop by so join us!

  Preface

  For single shifter Lea Riley celibacy sucks. Suspecting a new tattoo is behind her recent string of dating disasters, she arrives in Icy Cap to coordinate the Christmas spectacle at the local paranormal casino. Her goal? Track down the ice bear shifter she had a fling with four months ago in NY who created the tat. Also, she’d like to stay alive despite her troop of hostile troll showgirls.

  Magician Caleb Kerzak's fling shows up in Icy Cap as his new roommate with one big question. Namely what's with the strange tat on her shoulder that wards off any of her potential dates? Ice bear shifter Caleb has some explaining to do, only he doesn't know the answers. He wants Lea back in his bed and he’ll do anything to protect her.

  Lea and Caleb's steamy attraction tests them with secrets and murder at the casino during the prep for the Christmas show. Will our couple discover their mutual claim is the best thing that ever happened to either of them or is their love an illusion?

  1

  Lea

  Lea nudged the elf lying in her uncle’s office with the toe of her glittered silver stiletto. The corpse smelled like burnt cookies mixed with cheap evergreen candles. A corpse is creepy by definition, but a dead elf was worse than most of the other paranorms she could imagine. Holiday elves should be forever tossing glitter like deranged flower girls, or at the very least obsessively checking lists.

  Still, holiday desperation can take many forms.

  Even murder.

  Her shoe nudged the corpse again.

  “I’m pretty sure he’s dead, lass,” Uncle Paddy rocked back on his heels, sucking on a toothpick, and shoved his hands deep in his cheap suit pockets. His shoes were black leather with laces, the kind her father wore back in Brooklyn. This same style carried clergy, undertakers, and mobsters through their varied walks of life.

  Considering that Lea wore a red satin bodysuit with faux fur trim and thigh-highs, she could hardly be snide about her uncle’s outfit. As a private investigator working undercover, dressing like a candy cane hooker was part of her gig at Icy Cap’s Slots & Sluts Casino.

  “What kind of monster kills an elf? The poor little buggers are harmless.” Her uncle’s Irish accent grew more pronounced when he was agitated. And he had good reason to be. A dead elf a few weeks before Christmas was not good for business.

  “You mentioned vandalism and a few threatening messages, not murder.” Now did not seem to be the time to share that she’d never worked on a murder case or anything even remotely this serious before. She’d taken this gig to prove to her brothers back in Brooklyn that she could do more than lame-ass surveillance at their family PI business. Now she was having second thoughts. “Are those French hens?” She squatted down.

  Across the elf’s chest, a trio of hens wearing tiny black felt berets were dead too. Three French hens with twisted necks. Grisly.

  Lea was impressed with the murderer’s ingenuity. As a wannabe crafter, Lea collected supplies and half-finished projects. How on earth did the hats stay on the hens’ heads? She guessed glue or maybe pins. The perpetrator was either a thwarted crafter or someone truly committed to terrifying her uncle. One thing was for sure: she needed to solve this before eight maids a-milking came around.

  “The door was locked when you came in?” Lea and her uncle stared down at the elf and hens on Paddy’s stained grayish carpet.

  “It doesn’t make any sense. Everybody loves the casino,” he said.

  Clearly not everyone loved elves at the Slots & Sluts Casino, but stating the obvious wasn’t going to help her. “Why elves?” Lea asked.

  “Dunno.” Paddy shrugged. “Probably because they don’t speak.”

  “Ever?” She’d not had a conversation with one. Come to think of it, even though they tended to roam around the casino in clumps, she’d never heard them.

  “They have their own language. A mixture of gestures and tokens.”

  “Where do they get the money for tokens?”

  “Christmas ornaments.”

  Even the elves had to work with what they had.

  Elves weren’t the only paranormals at the S&S. Trolls were more numerous—and not the quaint Scandinavian variety that Lea had hoped for. Both sexes of Icy Cap trolls were at least six feet tall and covered with thick body hair. They had rows of pointed teeth that reminded Lea of a shark jawbone she’d seen on a beach on Fire Island as a kid. Worst of all, Icy Cap trolls loved sleeveless T-shirts and trucker caps; it was like the entire species was Staten Island, unwaxed.

  “The S&S is open to everyone. Trolls are the majority, but any paranorm or human is welcome here. Elves tend to be more seasonal. This time of year they gotta have some place to relax. Their working conditions are a lawsuit waiting to happen.”

  “We’ve got to call the police. This is way beyond vandalism and threats.”

  Paddy shifted his weight and didn’t meet her eyes. “Icy Cap is fishing for reasons to shut us down. The vamps want to build their own casino, make it all hoity-toity.”

  Again with Paddy’s vamp conspiracies. A decade ago, Paddy had skimmed a shade more than he should have from a vamp’s Atlantic City casino. In exchange for keeping his life, Paddy was exiled to Icy Cap.

  Her uncle’s office walls were lined with black-and-white photos of him mugging for the camera with performers long before Lea’s time. He stared at them often, the loneliness etched in the lines of his ruddy face.

  “Whoever is behind this isn’t a fan of birds either.” The hens’ necks were twisted, but the elf’s cause of death wasn’t clear. Lea leaned over and sniffed. “Now I smell curdled eggnog. Yuck.” She peered at the stains on the elf’s tunic. God, I hope it’s eggnog.

  “The club’s going to get busy. Help me move him?” Paddy asked.

  Although the elf was four feet tall and less than a hundred pounds, moving him was no easy task. His red and white striped stockings were ripped, and he was missing a green felt slipper. One hairy big toe stuck out.
<
br />   Did the expression about big feet apply to elf anatomy?

  Between her kickboxing and weight lifting, Lea was in pretty good shape, but this elf was literally a dead weight.

  “Lift with your back,” her uncle advised.

  “I don’t think that’s quite right.” She grasped, taking hold of his green-felt-clad foot.

  Her uncle grabbed him under the armpits. “Without their magic they’re three times as heavy.”

  Lea followed Paddy as they staggered down a dimly lit corridor and out a back exit. The frigid air would’ve taken her breath away under any circumstances, but lightly dressed, she stumbled.

  Once they were outside, her uncle stopped at a storage shed, fumbled with the lock, and pushed open the door with his shoulder. Inside was pitch black; none of the shed’s exterior lighting filtered inside. Paddy flipped a switch, bathing the unit in the greenish glow of artificial light.

  “Maybe it’s dark magic?” Lea murmured. There wasn’t any sign of injury on the elf. He was just dead—and wearing a cheesy grin, even in death.

  “Vampires.”

  “Uncle Paddy, dream on. If this elf was drained, he’d be much easier to move.”

  “The vamps are behind it, I’m sure of it. You just need to find the proof.”

  Lea rolled her eyes. “Just” finding such proof was a huge task—and one, quite frankly, out of her skill set. Still, she didn’t want to give up yet. Her brothers would never let her forget it if she bailed so soon.

  “I’m not a bloodhound.”

  “Thank God for that. If I wanted someone blundering around causing a ruckus, I’d have asked for one your brothers.”

  “It’d almost have been worth it to see how they filled out the uniform.” Lea swept a hand down her attire. The high-cut bodysuit gave her a wedgie and her ankles ached after two hours in her shoes. Not to mention the whole damn thing provided no protection from the elements when the wearer was standing in an unheated prop shed.

  Paddy gave a chuckle.

  “At the very least I need an autopsy so I can have a cause of death to work on.”

  “You need to find out who’s doing this so I can stop them before they kill again. A dead elf won’t tell you anything.”

  “You asked me to investigate. Don’t tell me how to do my job. Why are you locking them in here, anyway?”

  “It’s to keep them away from the ice bears. They’re hungry this time of year, with the sea ice just setting up.”

  Hungry ice bears. The news just kept getting better.

  2

  Caleb

  All he wanted was to sleep in his own bed.

  After a double shift in the Anchorage emergency room, then a fifteen-hour drive through mid-December sleet, ice, and snow, it didn’t seem to like too much for an ice bear shifter to ask.

  Apparently it was. Caleb Kerzak stood in his Airstream trailer, its floor flooded thanks to a hot water tank leak. A musty odor stung his nose as the semi-frozen carpet crunched underfoot.

  This was the urgency, deep inside his bones, that propelled him home in such a rush?

  What a fucking mess.

  Folding his six-foot, two-inch frame into his vehicle again to spend what was left of the night didn’t tempt him.

  Turning around, he headed back outside. No sense locking the door; the contents were ruined. Sorting this all out with insurance and contractors would be a mess with the holidays just weeks away.

  The other silver Airstream trailers in his community reflected the moonlight, casting a blue glow on the snow. It fell thickly, filling his tracks just moments after he made them and giving the illusion of peace and harmony. That might be the season, but this was Icy Cap, Alaska.

  All wasn’t lost. He had a spare key to his best friend’s trailer three doors down. Tommy was in Vegas. How could he possibly object to Caleb spending the night on the couch?

  Caleb opened Tommy’s front door to find a replica of his interior, with two significant exceptions: One, an auburn-haired woman slept on the fake-leather couch that Caleb had planned to lay his weary head on. Two, there was a skunk curled up beside her.

  He shook his head, hoping the scene before him would vanish.

  This. Couldn’t. Be. Happening.

  Caleb stepped in and pulled the door closed behind him. The woman on the couch startled awake. Violet eyes. Perfect boobs. He would have known her anywhere.

  Lea Riley.

  Suddenly the urgency drawing him back to Icy Cap had a lot less to do with his flooded trailer.

  The skunk growled but didn’t bother getting up.

  “Hey,” Lea said blearily. She sat up, rubbing her eyes. “I was wondering when you’d show up.” The throw covering her slipped to her waist, revealing her cami. “Shh, Elvis, it’s okay.” She patted a space closer to her. The skunk scooted over to share her blanket.

  “My place flooded.” Caleb closed the door, still holding his duffel bag. He needed something, anything, to say. Other than, of course, what needed to be said.

  Lea pulled a face. “Bad luck. You need to stay here?”

  “What are you doing here?” Caleb ground out.

  “You should see yourself. You look like a very grumpy bear.” Lea yawned, stretching her arms. “Uncle Paddy had a job for me, and I need the money.”

  “You’re working at the Slots & Sluts?” His arrival didn’t seem to alarm or even startle her. She had no right to be here, looking so damn cozy in his Icy Cap—let alone working at the S&S.

  “The artistic director left over creative differences.” Lea used her fingers to make air quotes around “artistic director.” “From what I gather, that vamp was trying to glamour the audience, not realizing trolls only get more surly. That might explain the pile of broken furniture behind the club.” Lea hopped off the couch.

  She was acting cool but Caleb sensed her restlessness.

  He got a brief glimpse of smooth, pale skin in the space between her top and panties. What had she said about expecting him? He found it difficult to concentrate around her.

  Lea rewrapped the throw around her shoulders. Her lavender scent wafted over him as she moved past him to the TV. She sorted through a DVD pile before selecting one.

  “Since you’re here, I need a favor.” Lea queued up the DVD.

  Caleb’s exhaustion receded. He was hungry, though, and it had nothing to do with his growling stomach.

  He sauntered over to her, backing her up against the TV. He closed the space between them, and her eyes widened. She was lovely. How the hell was he supposed to sleep at night with her so close by?

  “Last time you used that line, we were in New York,” Caleb said.

  Lea tapped a finger to her cheek. “I don’t remember you complaining.”

  “You’re my best friend’s baby sister.”

  “That didn’t bother you the first dozen times we fucked.” Lea flung one arm out wide from under her throw, providing a glimpse of her tits in the sheer top. “I don’t want to argue. All I’m saying is it’s a little late to get weird about it.”

  Caleb’s mouth went dry. He remembered everything about their times together. Shame, lust, and a need that threatened to suck him into a black hole. How could he not? It had looped through his brain all too regularly over the year and a half of their affair.

  “I was supposed to be looking out for you, not sleeping with you.” He reached for one of her upper arms. Her skin was soft under his hands.

  Lea removed his hand. “I don’t remember much sleeping. For an ice bear shifter you’re kinda squishy on the inside, even though you think you’re all badass. Just saying.”

  He’d known Lea since she was a little kid. Seen her grow up under the watchful eyes of her brothers and their friends. He’d kept his desire buttoned down tight until she’d maneuvered him into a hotel room during one of his visits to New York. From then on, his trips to the Big Apple involved a lot less sightseeing and much more time with Lea.

  They’d kept the affair fr
om her family, but Caleb was deep in shame over his need for Lea and how he’d handled it.

  Not that any of that bothered Lea. She lay on the couch with her legs tucked under her. Ignoring him, she started the DVD. The sight of the skunk trundling around never failed to catch Caleb off guard. Even with its odor-producing glands removed, what kind of idiot would keep a pet skunk?

  The Tommy kind.

  Damn. The whole eccentric crazy-ass family. They really had a thing for taking in misfits and strays.

  Like you?

  Disgusted with himself, Caleb paced around the kitchen. Surely food would help. At this point, it could hardly hurt. He helped himself to leftovers and a dark beer. Where’d that come from? Lea wasn’t a beer drinker. Had she been entertaining in Tommy’s absence? He inhaled. Just Lea’s scent, mingled with some fruity shampoo that apparently she was using on Elvis. His ice bear would’ve smelled another’s scent.

  Since the trailer lacked a dining table, he stood in the kitchen, holding his plate. Maybe he could just barricade himself in the kitchen until his place was fixed? The kitchen was a nice, neutral place. Then he remembered a house-sitting gig Lea had in Manhattan when he visited earlier in the year. They’d utilized every available surface, including a marble kitchen counter.

  “Don’t be a martyr. There’s plenty of room.” Lea waved a hand toward the couch, but her attention remained fixed on the TV. “Take a seat.”

  He might as well. Her slight frame only took up a small part of the couch. On the TV, a man and a woman performed a series of acrobatic, yet erotic, moves. Caleb was no stranger to showbiz acts, having grown up hanging around casinos. Still, he wondered how the performers onscreen did that.

  “What’s this?” He pointed his beer toward the screen.

  “Research. For the Spectacle.”