by Anne Marsh
“I’m riding with Ake,” she repeats, more softly. “Unless you give me a reason not to?”
I fight not to carry her off and fuck her. Make her mine. Vikings take—and I’m a fucking werebear shifter to boot.
“Don’t do it.”
“You’re not the boss of me.” She drops this little tidbit into our conversation as if it’s a passing thought and not a conversational land mine.
“I could be,” I growl. “You familiar with the story of Goldilocks and the three bears?”
Her eyes narrow. “You’re playing with me.”
Only if play means fuck. Christ, she works me up.
“Goldilocks goes for a walk looking for a place to stay, and first house she finds, no one answers the door but she goes right in without an invitation anyhow. She’s alone, the forest’s not the safest place, so who’s to blame her? She’s hungry so the three bowls of porridge sitting on the kitchen table are calling her name. The first one’s too hot, the second too cold, but the third one is just right and she eats it all up. Then she tries out the chairs. The first two are too big but that last one is just perfect. But all her walking and searching has worn her out, so she goes upstairs to check out the beds. The first is too hard, the second is too soft. Gotta argue with Goldie on the first—can’t get too hard in bed, but the soft shit’s not a plus. The third bed she tries is absolutely fucking perfect so she hops in and goes to sleep. You know what happens next?”
“The bears come home and kick her out,” she says defiantly, flashing me a killer smile. If she’s Goldilocks in this analogy, I’m definitely the big, bad bear come to eat her up.
“The bears come home and scare the shit out of her,” I correct. “But Goldie doesn’t wait around to find out what they really want from her. She’s so busy thinking she knows it all, has it all covered, that she stupidly takes off like they lit a fire under her ass.”
“Is this where you tell me that werebears and people should all just get along? Or that Goldilocks needs to stick around in the interests of cross-species relations?”
The sass in her voice has me fighting the urge to grin. When she stops worrying about shit, she says whatever comes into her head. Problem is, she makes me want to play with her.
“In my version of the story, there’s only one bear,” I mock-growl. “And that’s the papa bear. I’m thinking he’s not too happy when he goes home and finds his shit all messed up but when he finds Goldie waiting for him in his bed, he’s singing a different tune. He’s thinking about hauling her out of there and paddling her ass for being a naughty girl, and then he’ll fuck her long and hard because she’s right there and she’s hot as hell and he’s a horny bear.”
She gapes at me, face turning a slow, bright pink.
Okay, so she’s not the only one who loses her filter.
“Eat me,” she snaps.
Christ. Yes. And since that’s exactly what I’d like to do—throw her down on the cold, hard floor of the cave, shove her legs open with my shoulders, and eat her sweet, hot pussy until she’s howling my name and demanding more, I do the only sane thing I can.
I stomp off.
Dee
As Carr rampages off, probably to break some stuff or roar at the next hapless werewolf he encounters (his favorite activities in the two weeks he’s been stuck in these caves with my pack), I mentally remove him from the pro-Dee list. Too bad, so sad. Unfortunately, my fan club membership is shrinking rapidly. In fact, the penis-owning members now number in the single digits. One. I have one guy on my side and he’s only provisionally fond of me. Ake likes sex and he likes variety. Since he hasn’t stuck his dick in me yet, he’s still willing to be friendly.
Werebears suck.
So do werewolves.
Fuck, I bet I wouldn’t be a fan of werehedgehogs, not the way this year is turning out for me. I didn’t ask to be bitten, didn’t ask to be turned. One moment I was happily researching ice cap melting rates and then snip-snap and what big teeth you have and my whole life changed. For no good reason that I can see, the wolf pack decided to help themselves to my research team’s tents two years ago. And then shit escalated and they helped themselves to the whole damn base—and they kept me, too. I was the only girl and I’m pretty sure my possession of a vagina made a difference. I haven’t seen the three guys I was working with since the wolves attacked and since there hasn’t been a rescue party? Yeah. It’s not a leap of logic to deduce that they’re not in any condition to call for help.
This last year has been one of living in tattered tents and cold-ass caves. A year of pretending that ice camping is my absolute most favorite thing ever, of ignoring the nauseating, piss-inducing terror of being around the male wolves, of huddling with the other single females and wondering which asshole was about to make a move to claim me. I traded being a research assistant with a PhD in her back pocket for potentially being some guy’s fuck bunny. I didn’t like it. I didn’t want to do it.
I also didn’t want to die.
Death has a way of reprioritizing your shit.
Therefore, I’ll do whatever it takes to get out of these caves and back to civilization. I have a plan and the first step is rejoining the modern world with its running water, central heating, and code of law. After that, I’ll work on step two: separating from the pack. There has to be some way to reclaim my life, but it’s not like I can just tell the werewolves to fuck off. Male wolves have a temper. They’re possessive. They like to little lady me—and they have meaner teeth, a bigger bite, and a longer reach. So yes, I’ve learned to suck it up. To make nice to the wolfie in charge because if he’s not happy, then my world becomes a world of hurt and I can only handle so much pain.
I still don’t want to die.
So screw Carr. He can be as snarly as he wants, but he gets to do it somewhere else far, far away from me. He can disapprove of the wolves’ mating games as much as he wants, but I’m the one who has to live with their outcomes. Right now, I’m trapped. Ake isn’t just my best bet—he’s my only bet. Sure, Tyra wrapped Calder around her paw. It’s cute. Me? I don’t have a place in the pack, not really. No one needs me and my mad research skills. I could disappear tomorrow and I’d be a hiccup, a blip on the radar, the snowflake that melts when the wind blows it indoors. If I don’t want to be left behind with the broken stuff no one needs, I have to make someone want me. See some value in keeping me around. And Ake’s the only wolf that’s shown any interest—which makes him my keeper wolf unless I branch out to our new Viking friends... and with the notable exception of Calder, they’re notorious for loving and leaving.
One big, grumpy Viking werebear doesn’t get to judge me. It doesn’t matter that the man possesses the finest ass I’ve ever seen. Or that just the way he prowls through our caves gets my panties wet because he moves with lethal determination. For the last couple weeks, he’s stormed about the big cave, shoving shit into boxes and packs, and generally not taking no for an answer. And he’s not afraid to get down and dirty, to do the work that has to be done. He’s not just ordering us around—he’s making it happen. Ordinarily, I’d appreciate that quality.
Right now, I kind of want to kill him. Kick his arrogant ass. Kiss his—no. No kissing. The two of us don’t mix—it’s that oil and water thing. Although he’s more vinegar, so I guess we’d make an awesome fucking salad dressing but not much else. He’s way too big—if the size of his dick is even remotely proportional to those big hands or steel-toed shitkickers boots, I’d be facing down a monster dick. Rough sex can be fun but only if the guy’s willing to kiss me better and Viking werebears aren’t the poster children for Hallmark TLC.
Not all of the Viking werebears are assholes, however. The one sauntering toward me, a big grin splitting his face, actually isn’t half bad. Fell likes a laugh and he enjoys teasing us girls, but he also treats us like we’re his little sisters. He looks out for us—so God help anyone who hurts us. He’ll knock the shit out of any wolf that breathes down our neck without
permission. He’s a big believer in no means no, a quality that makes him a rock star in my book.
Fell crouches down beside me, bumping his shoulder against mine. He’s so large that the friendly gesture lands me on my butt. “You okay?”
“Sir Arrogant-a-Lot paid me a visit,” I mutter. “He has opinions about everything.”
Fell tugs me upright. “He’s not so bad.”
“He’s not opining about your love life.”
“He thinks I’m easy.” Fell’s cheerful grin makes it clear that he doesn’t mind what Carr thinks. Must be nice to be that confident.
“Well, he thinks I’m stupid.” And he volunteered to spank me. Maybe. Possibly. I’d never pegged Carr as having a playful, kinky side, but the man is full of surprises.
Fell smoothes my hair from my face. “He doesn’t.”
“You’ve had this conversation with him?”
Fell shrugs. “Carr’s not so big on words.”
Funny. He sure had plenty to say to me earlier.
“He’s got a few personality flaws.” Fell continues with mock-seriousness, his blonde hair bouncing around his face. I’ve seen the way the other unmated females look at him. When Fell shows up, they melt and smile. They watch him and make sure to put themselves in his way. He doesn’t seem to mind. He has a smile and a laugh for everyone, although as far as I know he hasn’t fucked anyone since he got here. Maybe he has a Viking friend back in the keep. Maybe he’s not really into werewolves. Maybe he’s the kind of guy who checks out a house a dozen times before he decides to buy it.
“He’s no keeper.” Yes, I sound sour, but today has sucked. The whole week—honestly, the entire year—would qualify for the Worst Ever label.
Fell perks up, looking interested. “You’re looking for a mate?”
“Are you volunteering?” Sleeping with Fell would be… not good. Not because he’s not a great guy (he is) but because he feels more like a friend or a baby brother. I like him but I have zero desire to get naked with him. The horrified look on his face tells me that he agrees one hundred percent with me.
“Teasing,” I say, bumping his shoulder with mine. My love tap doesn’t pack quite the same punch as Fell’s—he stays upright but gives me a quick grin.
“You’re missing out. So what’s my runner up look like?” His smile gets wider. The man is some serious trouble, even if he’s not my type.
“Depends,” I reply.
“On what?”
“On whether you’re seriously interested in the answer or if you’re just looking for material to tease me about later.”
I wouldn’t mind some inside intel, if we’re being honest. The pack has six unmated wolves—and twelve unmated females. Ake and Even are my last shots at a furry partner and since Even has settled his interest on another wolf, I’m down to that one option I mentioned before. If I’m serious about finding someone and not just about leaving the pack, I’ll have to broaden my horizons—and starting with our new Viking werebear overlords makes sense. Not only are they built and blessed with rugged good looks, but they’re living in close quarters with us. Why eat out when you can cook at home?
“A little from column A, a little from B? Hit me with the ideal man qualities.” Fell flashes me another smile. The man seems to be perpetually cheerful. Apparently, I like them a little gruffer and grumpier… not sure what that says about me.
First quality I want? Dependable. My ideal guy will do what he says he’s going to do, whether it’s picking shit up at the store or saying I dos.
“Faithful,” I announce.
Fell’s grin gets wider. “Not into ménage or sharing?”
“I need to know he’s not going anywhere. He should also be kind, a healthy dose of moral integrity, a sense of humor, and some smarts.”
“Huh.” Fell mock-sighs. “You forgot to measure the size of his dick—and his bank account.”
“Large,” I say promptly. “But I’m not looking for a guy for his cash. Pretty sure that’s prostitution. I’d just like—”
It sounds stupid, even in my head. Fell makes a give-it-up gesture.
“I want a home,” I say quietly. “A place to belong. I’d like to be a little less alone, if you know what I mean.”
“Not bad things.” He runs a hand over my head, messing up my hair. “You’re so fucking cute.”
Cute’s not bad, right? I’ve got big boobs, a distinct lack of height, and an ass that’s curvier than I’d like even after the pack’s recent semi-starvation diet and the dire lack of junk food and sugar in our caves. Since there’s no grocery store just down the street, we’ve pretty much been living on a perpetual South Beach diet—all meat, all the time. I’ve dropped more than a few pounds as a result. A leaner, sleeker me hasn’t popped me to the top of the pack’s most desirable bachelorettes, however—and honestly, I don’t want a guy who only loves what I don’t have (extra junk in my trunk).
“You ever think about leaving?” Fell’s voice pulls me from my thoughts.
“We’re leaving now,” I point out.
He snorts, stretching his arms out wide. Since he’s ditched his outerwear and is only wearing a wash-worn Henley, this just makes it clear that the man is packing some serious muscles—and some equally serious weapons. I count four knives before he drops his arms. “The pack, sweetheart. If you’re interested in meeting guys, maybe you need to broaden your horizons. Get out there in a whole new way.”
Yes. Yes, I have.
I ran the first chance I got after the wolves changed me and I still have the scars to prove it. I give my forearms a little rub. The scars don’t hurt any more, but they didn’t do much for me in the looks department, either. Thank God for a talented tattoo artist who covered them up with flowers and vines. After that I split my energies between making sure I was becoming invaluable and trying to find a wolf mate. These are my insurance policies should I not be able to leave.
“Running has always equated to a death wish.” Our previous Alpha hunted down anyone who tried to leave, and I don’t know if Calder will maintain the same no-exits policy. I do plan to look into it, however.
Fell’s face goes from playful to deadly serious in a heartbeat. “Tell me who to kill.”
“Sadly, life doesn’t work that way.” I pat him on the back and turn back to my list and my boxes. We’re supposed to be moving out in another hour. My non-existent love life will just have to wait.
“It can.” Fell gently pushes up my sleeve. My forearm is a garden from my elbow to my wrist, all black vines and pink roses. Not the delicate, closed up buds you get on day one, either, but blown-up, beautiful blossoms that skate across my skin. You can’t see the scars anymore, although you can feel them. Fell runs his fingers down my arm and frowns.
“You leave, you get bitten. It’s a rule.”
His frown deepens. “Offer still stands.”
“Thanks.” Impulsively, I go up on tiptoe, brushing a kiss across his cheek. “Rain check for later, okay?”
He nods, but he doesn’t look happy. And fundamentally, I agree with him. Relocating is certainly high on my list of future priorities, but werewolves currently top the paranormal world’s shit list. Since the prophecies about the end of the world claim that one of Fenrir’s children (aka “the werewolves”) will trigger the start of Armageddon, nobody likes us. It’s open season on the furries right now, which means striking out on my own isn’t prudent. Even if I could overcome the pack’s resistance to my leaving, I’d still be fighting an uphill battle for acceptance with the rest of the world. So for now, I’ll do my damnedest to make lemonade out of the lemons life handed me, and if I could use a juicer, sugar, and a super hot chef to help me out with that endeavor, that’s just too bad.
When I step outside our now empty cave an hour later, a row of snowmobiles waits for us. Naturally, the male werewolves are in the driver’s seats, expecting us to ride shotgun.
Ake slaps the seat behind him. The man’s not subtle. “Get on.”
/> He’s a dick—there’s no dressing it up. Still, he could be my dick and it’s not like I have a lot of choices. So I swing awkwardly onto the seat behind him. Ake’s a pretty big guy and he doesn’t budge up. This leaves me a teeny sliver of vinyl on which to plant my butt. I squeeze in and, since he can’t actually see my face, glare at his back. Sure, it’s passive-aggressive, but I’ll take what I can get.
When he starts the snowmobile seconds later, I shove my arms around his waist because it’s that, fall off, or somehow figure out how to balance myself on the seat. I’ll take Option A. As the snow swirls around us and we move out, I look around. Most of the werewolf pairings are predictable. Tyra, for example, is snuggled up against Calder, her back pressed against his front and his arms around her as he steers his snowmobile to the front of our pack.
The Viking werebears spread out on all four sides as if they’re some kind of bodyguard or honor guard. When I crane my neck, I spot Carr riding behind us. He glares at me and I glare right back. So what if he’s not happy about my riding with Ake? I need a ride. Ake offered. If it bothered Carr that much, why didn’t he offer to take me up behind him? Ake thinks I’m attractive.
Neener.
Yes, I actually think that. I’ve learned to appreciate the small pleasures in life.
It doesn’t take long for the ride to surpass novelty, however, and achieve Most Miserable Thing Ever status. The weather, for one, is hardly cooperating. The sky dumps snow on us, the wind spinning the endless white flakes into miserable spirals of ice that burn my face and eyes. My fingers and toes ache with the endless cold and my whole body approximates the temperature of a popsicle. I’d trade almost anything for a nice hot spring or a Four Seasons right now.
Normally I would enjoy the ride and the chance to check out something different than the inside of our caves. Especially since said caves were lacking in any and all amenities, the chance to move on to somewhere else is awesome. But no one’s told us anything about our destination other than that it A) belongs to the Vikings and B) is their keep. Since it’s also located in not-so-sunny Greenland, I’m not holding out high hopes for somewhere warm and plush.