The Bridal Hunt (Brides of the Hunt Book 1)

by Jeanette Lynn

  George leaned in, his breath wafting over my face, the same spearmint toothpaste scent I knew well, but I turned my head away from him, shutting my eyes tight as I stifled a gag. Everything about him churned my stomach now.

  Helplessness consumed me as his hot breath fanned across my neck, his voice right next to my ear as he chuckled huskily. "They let me out on bail this morning. Isn't this perfect? Me, you, a secluded cabin, just the tw-"

  "How did you find me?" I cut in.

  "Oh." Smirking, like the douche I’ve finally woken up to realize he is, he chuckled sheepishly, pulling back a little. "I put a tracking device on your truck last year, so I just followed you here after I got out."

  "You what?!!"

  George, seemingly unfazed by my ear splitting shriek, ignored my outburst, continuing to act like this was all normal, like nothing had happened, as if everything was back to the way it used to be. Eyes roving over my face thoughtfully, he smiled down at me warmly, then bent down to kiss the tip of my nose.

  Feeling like an alley cat itching for a fight, spitting mad, I was about ready to scratch his pretty hazel eyes out or spit in his face. He pulled back before any of that could have happened, which just fueled the anger building inside me.

  "Want to make snow angels, pumpkin? Or we could hump each other like snow bunnies, eh? We've never had sex in the snow before." Glancing around at the blanket of white covering the ground thickly, he chuckled and grinned, and I just wanted to hurl.

  George paused for a moment, lips pursing in thought, before his attention drifted back to me, an intent gleam entering his eyes. "Oh, I know! We could try for our own little one now.”

  I blinked at that. He can’t be... No.

  But he was.

  “I've been thinking about it, and why wait, right? I love you, you love me, and we're gonna get married anyway..." the psycho squashing me babbled excitedly, ignoring me while I cursed and cussed him out, glaring up at him with open hostility.

  A thought occurred to me, which blossomed into an idea, as I watched his crazy shine on. I figured it might at least buy me some time, or maybe distract him enough to get him off of his current train of thought. It was worth a shot. Then, maybe he'd put down his guard a little and possibly, if luck was on my side, let me up.

  "What about Candy? You should really go talk to her, hmm?" I murmured docilely enough. "She looked really upset." Blinking innocently, I put on my best concerned expression and tried to loosen myself up, make him think I was starting to relax.

  This didn’t exactly have the desired effect.

  George’s fingers tightened and he leaned in, his heartbeat thumping heavily against my breasts as he pressed us chest to chest. It was almost impossible not to cringe away.

  "She's nothing, Willy. She could never be you. You know that, baby, don’t you?”

  The sweet, soft smile he graced me with disgusted me. Lies. All lies. Anything that had ever come outta that too perfect mouth, was nothing but a bunch of prettily spun tales from poisonous lips.

  To my further dismay, he continued. “I knew the moment I saw you that you were the one for me." Bringing himself impossibly closer, he nuzzled my hair and planted a chaste kiss to my forehead, pulling back just enough afterwards to study my face.

  "But..." Blinking rapidly as my mind worked frantically, I licked my lips nervously, truly starting to sweat.

  "Your hair was a little shorter back then and you were wearing a polka dotted skirt, sitting in the theater all by yourself as you watched that one movie you love. You know, the one that always makes you cry. What was it called, again?"

  I blinked hard once and frowned. "I didn't meet you in a theater, I met you at the grocery store. And if I recall, I was wearing grubby jeans and a t-shirt, not a skirt." I remembered—I know it was a store, I thought, scowling hard. Is he losing his memory, too?

  "Oh, no.” George shook his head frantically. “That's just where I made it so we would bump into each other. I'd been watching you for weeks before I’d made my move.” Staring off into the distance, as if remembering the whole thing, scene by scene in vivid detail, Mr. Nut Job nodded thoughtfully as he took a trip down twisted memory lane, then sighed wistfully.

  "And I’d wondered why you didn't date much," I muttered under my breath.

  Wincing at my slip, I cleared my throat a little, glancing back up at him with an innocent enough expression when he snapped out of it.

  "No, I chose you.” Perfectly serious, perfectly insane, perfectly not so perfect, he was worse off than I could have ever imagined. “I told myself that this time would be different,” he continued. “This time I'd find the one. The other women were too... willing, too needy.” He gave his head a quick shake at the thought, upsetting the hood of his coat. “They weren't loyal enough. Weren’t... you.” Brow instantly furrowing, he scowled. “Yes, I knew when I’d found you that you would never leave me. You'd always choose me if I just treated you right."

  Uh... huh.

  At that he grinned down at me lasciviously, and our eyes met. Without thought I reacted, cringing outright as he regarded me with that sexy, come-hither look. No!

  "And look how great that's turned out to be," he practically chirped out, happily, ignoring my spluttering and offended huffing as I slipped and let a few loose.

  So much for me pretending to be docile.

  "I was a little hesitant at first, you know,” he went on, as if I wasn’t there at all—and maybe to him I wasn’t—“I didn't know if I could really grow attached to someone with a little meat on their bones."

  Skin flaming like I’d just eaten a hot chili, I felt my face flushing with humiliation as my ire burned. If looks could maim, the man would be bald by now, hair singed clean off, eyebrows and all, I felt so utterly indignant. How dare he, the swine.

  "But after I'd had you, Willy,” his expression softened, as if the thought made him feel all gooey inside, “I knew I would never go back. Your body was made for me.”

  Contemplating vomiting right here and now, aiming right for his face—hopefully wipe off the creepy look on it—I stiffened visibly as his hands slowly slid down my wrists to my arms, heading towards my breasts.

  Bucking hard, I growled indignantly, thrusting my hips up, kicking my legs up and out to throw him off balance, even if just to topple him to his side so I could slip from beneath him.

  Undeterred, his thighs clamped down around mine, his large hands gripping my wrists when I would have clawed at him, pinning me back in place.

  "Asshole." I hissed the words at him through gritted teeth.

  “You know you don’t mean that.” Pressing forward, he pushed his groin into mine suggestively, ceasing my struggles immediately as his demented misconceptions had him rubbing himself all over me.

  Hell no, buddy. Nuh-huh! Not gonna happen!

  Think, Mina, think! Use the matter between your ears, girl! He's off his damn rocker!

  An idea, grown out of desperation, suddenly formed in my mind. It was a little far-fetched for my limited fibbing skills, but I thought I could pull it off. I have to do something! Well, I was hoping I could, for my own sake and any future unborn children he had his eye on making today. Sooo not gonna happen! Hell no!

  Here goes nothing, Wilhelmina, I thought, sucking in a deep breath. You can do this.

  Bugging my eyes out as I gasped dramatically, rolling them back before I let my head loll, I slackened my mouth, going completely limp under him, trying to relax my features as he shifted a little, jiggling my hand to see if I was playing around.

  "Willy? Pumpkin?" he asked, concerned when I remained perfectly lax.

  Worry laced his tone, making his voice thin and reedy, as he continued to call out to me, his hands running over me frantically. Holding perfectly still, limp as a rag, not even a flinch when he started to make strange, chirruping noises in his throat in distress, I deftly played my part.

  George’s tone grew urgent, bordering on panic, the longer I continued to play poss
um, ignoring his repeated entreaties.

  Sooner than I’d thought, George released me and hopped off, checking my neck for a pulse, hands shaking, his movements flustered and frantic. He babbled, making ridiculous promises—to me or himself I wasn’t quite sure—if I would just wake up.

  “I’ll be back, Willy. Wait there, okay? I’ll be right back, baby!” George promised, followed by the sound of his hasty retreat.

  The sounds of heavy breathing and boots clomping along clumsily, quickly receding, the faster and farther he went, sent my heart racing.

  Trying not to jump the gun and fumble my chances of escape, I waited until I heard him thumping up the back, wooden steps of the cabin, then the slam of a door, before I hopped up and took off. Legs pumping, breath huffing, I ran as fast as my legs could carry me, headed towards the woods, farther away from Crazy George.

  I can find a road or something and hitch a ride back to town if I have to. Oh, wait! A huge grin splitting my face, I reached into my pocket and pulled out my truck keys. Bingo!

  Spinning around, I veered to the left, changing directions fast, and went straight for my truck.

  Rounding the corner, I spotted George, back too soon, and upped my step, hightailing it to my truck door as he broke out into a run. Much faster than I’d anticipated, calling my name out hoarsely as he chased me down, I didn’t know if I’d make it.

  “Screw off!” I shouted, picking up a clump of snow to chuck at him. Hitting my intended target, who oomph-ed and grunted, my victory was small, quite short-lived, as I whooped then promptly stumbled over a small snow bank.

  "Gotcha," he yelled as he took another sloppy snowball to the face, shaking it off and launching himself at me.

  Catching my footing right as he leapt, I screamed bloody murder, huddling into my customary go-to position: curled up in a ball. Keys clutched in my curled fist, I threw my arms over my head protectively, the fingers of my free hand spreading wide about my face, the fisted keys in the other pressing into the base of my neck. Beanie flying off in the process, tumbling somewhere off to my right, I shrunk down as far as my bod would allow, waiting, bracing for impact.

  There was a snarl and a growl from somewhere off behind me, like a wild animal gone berserk. Many strange noises followed, worthy of a massive beast, that horrible, roaring bellow that followed like nothing I’d ever heard before in my life. My blood froze on the spot at that first, angry snarl, my stomach instantly twisting, every molecule in my body coming to a screeching halt.

  That, whatever it was, was most certainly not George.

  And there it was again. A deep, hard, gut wrenching snarl.

  What the hell was it? What could possibly make that... Surely not a bear?

  Another sound soon followed, one that had me gulping hard. It was close, and guttural, almost like a... purr? What the...

  And again, so much closer. Close enough it felt like it was... Hot breath skittered over my hands and I gasped in surprise.

  Oh god...

  I was too terrified to look, so I stayed huddled, peeking a little from between the protective position my arms formed around me to see a white mass of fur crouching down, stopping a short distance away in front of me, its back facing me.

  A white bear? Polar bear? No, there aren’t any polar bears here! That’s... I would have thought ridiculous, but...

  Too freaked out now not to look, I slowly lowered my hands, jumping when the white, massive furball snarled and growled again in warning, its deep bass a menacing rumble as it faced off with something—or someone, I realized—when I saw George trying to taunt the beast thing. Whatever it is.

  "She's mine!" George yelled at the thing. "Let her go!"

  "I really don't think yelling at a wild animal is going to..." I began to bark out tentatively, my voice trailing off, before croaking to a stop, the second the white beast whirled around, chuffing at the sound of my voice.

  The creature’s beastly face drank in the sight of me, eyeing me intently, taking my person in from head to toe as his scary eyes gleamed menacingly.

  It was a he, if the fur covered rod jutting from between his thighs was anything to go by. Outie usually means it’s a boy, you know. And not to be a crazy whack-a-doo, but hasn't he ever heard of pants?

  No, and why would he? He’s a beast man!

  He had skin so white it was practically see-through, the crazy beast crouching in front of me, white and blonde fur covering his entire body. His face, hands, and feet appeared to be the only parts of him with patches where hair was absent, exposing pale, almost translucent skin.

  Eyes a frighteningly bright yellow, with a darker, richer gold around the edges of the irises, he stood there—as if as frozen inside and out as I felt—stuck in place, and just stared at me.

  The beast creature had a mouth full of really sharp looking teeth that gleamed as white as his hair, and his nose looked long and straight, the end slightly tipped up. Grunting, his nostrils flared, nose crinkling as it bunched, and he scented the air.

  The man-beast jerked and roared, turning with inhumane speed, and swiftly swung at George—who’d tried to come up on the creature with a surprise sneak attack. Swatting him away like he was no more than a fly, he batted my loony ex, along with the branch he was swinging at the beast man like a club, back with one quick, well-aimed swing of his massive arm.

  "Run! Willy! Run!" George shouted frantically, wobbly on his feet.

  Ears ringing, heart thundering, I panicked and ran to my truck, unlocking and yanking the door opened hurriedly. Hopping in, I opened the glove box, fingers shaking, and grabbed my pepper spray.

  Stalker with his screws loose or not, no one deserved to die like this! I had to help George.

  Slamming the door shut, I ran back into the melee, slipping and sliding along the ground to stand in front of George. Jumping out in front of him, I shielded him with my body as he moaned and groaned, rolling around on the ground—the beast's most recent swat having sent him flying across the yard.

  “Quit trying to hit him, idiot!” I shouted crossly over my shoulder. “He’s bigger and stronger than you, dumb ass! Take a hint!” Berating George right this moment probably wasn’t the best approach to the situation, but if he’d stop trying to beat the thing up, maybe it would quit pulverizing him.

  The man-beast grunted and paused, eyeing me warily. His hands twitched as he fidgeted in place, big shoulders shifting as he tried to glance around me to where George was grumbling pitifully. Anytime he caught a glimpse, an angry snarl welled up in his chest, to which I shifted, blocking his view once more. God, what I wouldn’t give for something better than the tiny canister in my hand.

  The big, scary beast looked genuinely surprised at my defense of my coo-coo beans ex, though his astonishment was short lived.

  "Move. Out. Way." Waving a thick, meaty arm, the creature snarled his words out gutturally, glaring down at me.

  Despite being scared shitless, I stood my ground. Lifting my chin stubbornly, shoulders pulling back, I gave my head a quick shake. “I-I-I-I’m sorry, but I can’t do that.”

  Fingering the canister in my hand, trying to calm my breathing, willing my hands to stop shaking, I gripped the little cylinder tight.

  “Move!” The beast growled out, growing agitated when I once again refused to listen. “Move!”

  Without another word I lifted my arm, took aim, and let the spray fly, cringing as the man-beast roared out in pain and stumbled back, trying to wipe at his eyes ineffectively.

  Time to move, like, now.

  "George! George! Get up!" I pleaded and yelled, whipping around and tugging on his arms to get him going.

  "Wha...? Wilhelmina, honey, when did you get here?" George mumbled dazedly, slipping from my grip as I tugged on him, desperately trying to yank him up.

  He's too heavy! I can’t do this. But I have to.

  "Hurry! We have to hurry! He's- Ahhhh!!!!" I screamed as I was lifted off of my feet, airborne instantly, then thrown over an e
normous, white furred shoulder.

  Stunned and suffering from a mild case of whiplash, it took a few beats for fight or flight to kick in.

  Panic set in, sure enough, and I pounded on the big, furry beast’s back, screaming for all I was worth. Tugging on his hair, kicking him as hard as I could, I tried anything I thought might get him to drop me, release me, something.

  My attempts to get loose grew more and more frantic, my cries louder, the deeper into the woods we went.

  Chapter Three

  W

  e must have been traveling for at least two hours before we finally stopped, my hitting-and-kicking fit turning into a cuss-him-and-curse-him tirade when my limbs tired out.

  Now, sore, exhausted, voice a little hoarse and shaky, I'd settled for sullen glares and deafening silence. Not really gonna help accomplish much, but my voice was starting to go hoarse from all the yelling. Guess I should just consider this reserving my strength.

  We hit a large clearing and my beast kidnapper started to slow down, scanning the open area with a keen intensity that had me watching as well, like he was checking for any signs of possible threats.

  Making an odd sound in his throat, his pace resumed. Not too long after that, he tromped over to a large patch of grass yet to be covered in snow. Bending down, he leaned forward, easily sliding me off his fuzzy back.

  Not quite ready to be dumped on my feet, head spinning, back screaming from the prolonged, uncomfortable position, pins and needles pricking my hands and feet, I sank towards the ground on unsteady legs. My body felt like it had gone gooey, like jelly, limbs tingling from renewed circulation after dangling over his shoulder for so long. Unbalanced and more than a little disoriented, I had to grab his shoulder to keep from slumping into an ungraceful heap.

  Fiddling at his waist, the beast pulled a pouch out from what appeared to be a furry belt around his hips. Messing with what I assumed was a type of spout, and or plug, he tipped the pouch back and took a healthy swig, the thick muscles in his neck contracting and releasing as he swallowed.

  The belt he wore matched his thick pelt perfectly, blending seamlessly into him, effectively masking it so well I found myself staring down at it, trying to figure out where it began and he ended.